


Stand By

by LostInSonder



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Case Fic, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, CyberLife (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hank Anderson Swears, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, No Ships Sail Here, Poor Connor, Post-Game(s), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Worldbuilding, Worried Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostInSonder/pseuds/LostInSonder
Summary: Following a string of incidents reminiscent of their early deviant cases, Connor and Hank find themselves investigating a potential new virus, one that seems to present with the strangest symptoms and renders it's victims dangerously unstable.But in the midst of their investigation, Connor suddenly finds himself unable to connect to Cyberlife's servers. Incapable of performing vital data backups and system updates he becomes caught in a progressive cognitive and physical decline. With Connor's condition rapidly deteriorating and the morally dubious Cyberlife acting evasively, the pair must race to find answers before Connor succumbs to his own failing systems.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 89
Kudos: 157





	1. All Systems Functioning

**Author's Note:**

> Stumbling into this fandom two years too late with my head in the whump game. This was supposed to be a quick one-shot to get me back into writing but the story quickly developed a mind of it's own and went deviant.
> 
> A heads up, Hank's going to get sweary.

Christ, Hank hated early morning starts. Couldn’t the world just call a truce for one night and not set itself to fire? At the very least be considerate enough to wait until a reasonable hour. Years with the DPD and he could vouch for the fact that there was something terrifyingly powerful about the setting of the sun’s ability to bring out the worst in humanity.

For Hank, it had been the persistent chiming of his phone at an ungodly hour which served to bring out the worst in his humanity that morning.

Waking with a string of profanities and moans, he’d scrabbled for the phone to be informed of a case requiring his attention. After hanging up with a barely coherent assurance that he would get to the scene when he was able, he had dragged himself from the tempting comfort of his bedroom. Staggering into the living room muttering promises to destroy the damn phone under his breath, he had found Connor. Alert, informed and raring to go: the man was his perfect antithesis in the morning. It really pissed Hank off.

Over a year into their friendship and Connor was well enough versed in Hank’s morning tendencies to know the fastest route to a functional detective was to permit him two of his vices: coffee and a breakfast brimming with more fat and cholesterol than humanly healthy. His heart might one day pay the price, but at least his phone would live to see another day. With promises that they would stop for breakfast on their way to the scene, Connor had managed to corral the begrudging detective from the house and into the cold dark morning.

Coffee and breakfast had been the compromise, but as they sat at one of the tables outside the food truck they’d found en route, Hank couldn’t help feeling he’d still come away with a poor deal. He scrubbed a hand down his face, desperately trying to expel the exhaustion from his body as he grabbed the paper coffee cup from the table. His eyes strayed to the remnants of his breakfast sandwich with a wistful gaze, torn between the waste of good food and the damn early hour sending his confused stomach into churning nausea. Connor would argue that it was the greasy food itself which was threatening indigestion rather than the early hour, but Hank stubbornly refused to admit that as a possibility.

“We should go, Lieutenant,” Connor repeated for what must be the fourth time since Hank had begun his silent battle of wills against his breakfast. “If we’ve been summoned to the scene, the incident must fall under the remit of our investigations. It would be remiss of us to miss an opportunity to investigate the scene.”

Hank merely grunted in acknowledgement as he softly shook the coffee cup with a measuring hand before downing the remaining liquid.

“Of course,” Connor continued with a knowing quirk of his eyebrow, “I’m sure Detective Reed would otherwise be happy to assist.”

Hank gave up the attempt to drain the last impossible dregs from the coffee cup and levelled a glare at his companion.

“You’re getting too damn cocky, you know that?”

“Well, if that is indeed the case, you should know that was not part of my programming. I was equipped with a social integration protocol with the intention that my personality would adapt and be shaped by my social interactions. As your partner and as your friend, it’s worth noting that you’ve certainly been the most prominent figure in both my working and personal life.” He paused to level a smirk at Hank. “If I’m cocky, it’s a learned trait.”

“Don’t play the nature versus nurture card," Hank grumbled as he stiffly rose to his feet and gathered up his rubbish. "I didn’t fucking raise you.” Despite the harsh response, as he tipped the last sorry dregs of his breakfast into the bin he couldn’t help but find his foul mood abating slightly.

Dusting off his hands on his jeans, Hank considered Connor’s words as they began the walk back to the car.

“So are you really saying it’s my fault you’re an annoying prick sometimes?”

Connor laughed, a genuine laugh that had become increasingly easy and natural the longer he’d been in Hank’s company. It was a sound which cast no doubt about how far he had changed since becoming deviant. A complete contradiction to the stoic man who had once single-mindedly pursued his mission and whose every smile was a carefully calculated measure designed to put people at ease.

“Is that how you’d describe yourself?” He asked as they reached the car, doors swinging open in unison as they climbed in.

“Well, so says everyone at the DPD." Hank paused as he slammed the door, heaving a grateful sigh at the relative warmth of the car as he started up the engine before amending, “Among other more colorful reviews.”

Connor gave a huff of amusement before falling into a brief silence as Hank concentrated on pulling away from the curb.

“In all seriousness though,” he resumed after a moment, “the fact that I was partnered with you is what made me who I am today. I should really thank you.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Hank smiled ruefully as he waited to turn left, battling the traffic which had started to build with morning commuters, “but I’m not exactly the best role model, kid. You probably should have been partnered with someone better.”

Brow creasing in confusion, Connor seemed to puzzle over Hank’s words.

“You fail to see your own importance, Hank. Had I been assigned to work with any other detective, I doubt I would have developed the necessary empathy that drove my deviancy.”

“Any officer could have done a hundred times better,” Hank scoffed. “Besides, that empathy? That all came from you, Connor."

Connor shook his head in disagreement before persisting, “You never failed to call me out when I was being just a machine or to highlight when I showed signs of being more than that. Cyberlife equipped me with many things, but certainly not a moral compass. That self-awareness came from you. As for another partner having the same effect, I highly doubt that. Had I been assigned to work with Detective Reed, for instance - well, you can imagine the intolerance and aggressiveness that may have fostered. I only succeeded - the rebellion only succeeded - because of the qualities you instilled in me.”

Blindsided by the sudden admission, Hank struggled to find a response as he flicked his gaze rapidly between the road and his companion.

“And you led with cocky?” he said finally.

Connor merely smiled pleasantly in response, content that his meaning had been accurately conveyed and enjoying the reaction he had managed to elicit.

“Alright, enough sappiness,” Hank interjected hastily before any more revelations could make themselves known. “I don’t know where that’s coming from, but it sure as hell hasn’t come from me.” He reached over to jam the button which controlled the stereo volume, the blast of the familiar heavy music drowning out his growing discomfort.

It wasn’t exactly that he disagreed with all that Connor had expressed, he could see the logic in it. People changed their behaviour all the time to fit their social circumstances so it made sense that an advanced android would be programmed to follow a similar pattern. The kid didn’t exactly have a large social circle, particularly back in those early days, so it equally made sense that Hank would have had some impact.

Even so, the implications carried a weight of responsibility Hank still wasn’t sure he was ready to bear.

Lost in thought, he let the rest of the short drive pass filled only by the blaring music and the growing noise of the city coming to life.

As they approached the scene their destination became obvious, a construction site focused upon an intricate structural web of metal beams and reinforced concrete three stories high and growing. The flickering lights from the emergency service vehicles parked along its perimeter hit the beams and cast dancing shadows across the ground in the faint winter morning light. At the periphery of the site, a mobile crane seemed to teeter dangerously in the wind which fiercely tore through the frigid air whilst a group of firemen worked to secure the machine.

As Hank’s old car pulled up, they came to a stop under the billboards excitedly proclaiming the extension of an existing retail space, scheduled to open September 2040. The latest in a string of redevelopment projects for this part of the city.

Exchanging a glance with Hank, Connor raised his eyebrows in an unspoken ‘after you’.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Hank opened the car door to be greeted by the bitterly cool February air. The slamming of the passenger door informed him that Connor was close behind. With a quick flash of an ID card, they were ushered past the chain link fence lined by police vehicles and fire engines.

“Christ,” Hank breathed out as he greeted the familiar figure of Ben Collins, who stood, shoulders hunched against the cold, at the site entrance. “The hell happened here?”

Ben bobbed his head in greeting before responding.

“Re-development project, an extension of the existing shopping mall. Construction is being undertaken overnight to avoid disruption to shoppers. Paramedics were called to the scene around 05:15 to reports of an injured worker, Nathaneal Miller, 28. He was crushed beneath a steel beam when it fell from the support crane. Declared dead at the scene. Massive cranial and internal damage. Poor guy.”

“Nasty stuff,” Hank agreed, before continuing with the detachment only a hardened detective could muster, “So why am I here at the ass crack of dawn for a construction accident?”

Ben paused, warily eyeing Connor for a moment before responding.

“The crane was being operated by an android.”

“Oh shit,” Hank cursed, raising a hand to scratch at his beard in agitation. “That complicates things.”

Ben nodded in agreement. “The android’s been taken in for questioning. Seems like it might have been in his best interests. Co-workers were apparently all set to beat him senseless, the officers first on the scene had a hard enough time intervening long enough to get a word in.”

“Whole mess is going to be fuel the haters don’t need.” Hank sighed heavily. Already thinking of the ramifications of an incident like this.

Human-on-android violence never seemed to lessen. For several months after the uprising there was a massive spike of such incidents as those opposed to the recognition of androids as living beings expressed their discontent through fists and weapons. As legislation was implemented and androids’ civil rights became progressively more protected, the law came down harder on perpetrators of violence. While the hate crimes abated in response, it was never enough to quell them completely. For some the hatred still burned strongly. An incident like this was sure to ignite that same hatred once it reached the public ear.

“Mind if we take a look at the scene?” Hank asked.

Ben looked to the fire officers who had been working to secure the area and made a motioning gesture between Hank, Connor and the scene. The fire officer nodded a confirmation and beckoned them forward.

“Go ahead,” Ben gestured encouragingly. “The area’s been secured.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

Ben hummed his acknowledgement before moving to converse with another nearby officer.

As they walked around the perimeter of the structure, Hank looked to Connor who had remained uncharacteristically silent during their exchange.

“So, what do you reckon?" he asked. "Just an accident?”

“You know as well as I do, there’s no such thing as ‘just an accident’ where an android is concerned,” Connor said, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Androids do not tire or fatigue like humans, nor are they ever subject to any lapses in concentration. They’re also largely immune to environmental factors like the cold.”

“Sure, lucky bastards,” Hank agreed with a frown, folding his arms protectively over his chest as a blast of cold air stung his face and stole his breath away. “Makes sense they'd be popular with construction companies. No complaints and no clumsy human mistakes to cause them a legal headache.”

“The widespread introduction of androids in construction work brought the mortality rate for the industry down by more than 90%,” Connor confirmed as they approached the massive metal beam laid out unassumingly on the frost-hardened ground as though it hadn’t claimed a life just a couple of short hours ago.

“Made a lot of enemies in the industry too though,” Hank pointed out, his thoughts again straying to what Ben had said about the human co-workers who had enacted a violent retaliation. “A lot of people left out of a job and none too happy about it.”

A twist of unease played across Connor’s face, barely perceptible before he continued.

“There’s more though, androids designed for the construction industry are programmed to adhere to the strictest safety protocols. It’s embedded deep into their programming. They can’t turn it off even if they want to. As part of their safety programing they have an environmental hazard awareness protocol.” At Hank’s dubious expression, he clarified, “It means they are constantly aware of their environment and any potential hazards. They can anticipate any adverse incidents and take measures to circumvent them.”

Understanding dawned on Hank.

“So the likelihood is this was either a direct attack or the android was deliberately not acting in a situation which would endanger the victim’s life?”

“Yes, if there were any danger, whether it be an error with the machinery or misconduct on Miller’s part, the android would have been aware and should have been able to stop it from occurring. It’s quite probable that the outcome was intended.”

Hank cursed again before continuing, “Whatever option we’re looking at, it doesn’t sound great.” He glanced at the large beam before admitting, “I’m a little out of my comfort zone here. Not used to a weapon which can’t be wielded by hand.”

“It’s a twenty five foot long I-beam,” Connor reported, as he quickly glanced over the length of the offending object before dropping to a crouch and gently running an examining hand across the deep imprints which clearly marked the point of impact. “From it's material composition and the depth of the impression in the ground, it would have been a twenty foot drop.”

“Enough to kill a man,” Hank agreed unnecessarily. “Go on.”

Connor continued to study the beam before him, noting the faint trace of darkening red blood which marred the underside of the beam. The thick metal otherwise remained largely unmarked by it’s collision with a man who had just a few hours ago walked across this very spot. His gaze roamed up towards the metal structure under construction as he silently mapped out the expected placement and trajectory of the beam, his re-construction of events confirming Miller’s position as he worked on the ground guiding it into place.

“Miller was standing here when the beam fell.”

Hank walked to Connor’s side and looked up at the boom of the crane looming high above them.

“Well, shit,” he muttered as a faint wave of vertigo stole over him. Visions of falling metal and caved in heads drove him to quickly tear his gaze from the dizzying height to the engine ahead of them.

Noting the shift in Hank's attention, Connor rose to his feet, his gaze darted rapidly around the scene as he collated data. The LED on his temple briefly flickered with the additional processing demand before returning to it’s typical slow pulse.

“My preliminary review of the area shows no discernable environmental factors. The crane was not overloaded and the beam would not exceed the crane’s maximum weight bearing capacity,” he reported to Hank, who considered him with a faintly impressed expression as they continued to approach the vehicle. “Without observing them more closely, it’s impossible to say with certainty, but I can say with 98% confidence that there are no issues with the ropes. Additionally, while the weather conditions are unpleasant, wind speeds in the last twenty four hours have not been adverse enough to cause significant issues.”

Connor turned his attention to the control cabin which sat atop the body of the vehicle as he and Hank drew level with the machine. Flecks of vivid blue blood dotted the metal rungs of the ladder which ascended to the top of the truck and a thick smear marred the metal of the short walkway which led from the ladder to the operator cabin.

“It looks as though the android was forcibly dragged from the cabin,” Hank pointed out with disdain. “Fucking animals.”

Connor extended a hand to one of the specks of blood and, ignoring Hank’s huff of revulsion, prodded the viscous fluid before bringing his fingertips to his mouth.

**[BLUE BLOOD]  
[Model TW400 984 722 286]  
[Construction Worker for Tychon Constructions Ltd]**

“The apprehended worker was a TW400,” Connor informed Hank, who still looked deeply perturbed by Connor’s behaviour. “It’s an older model, but certainly still has the same safety protocols installed.”

“Jesus, Connor, was that necessary?” Hank muttered in disgust. “So a premeditated incident seems like an increasingly likely possibility then."

Connor nodded, his attention already on the next task. A foot on the first rung of the ladder, he announced, “I'm going to check the crane’s systems for any signs of technical error," before he began confidently ascending the short ladder.

“Sure thing,” Hank responded, eyeing the height of the crane with unease. “I’ll just stay down here if you don’t mind.”

Connor was already atop the vehicle and walking swiftly along the platform before Hank had finished speaking. Carefully avoiding the slick patch of blue blood, he reached out for the door of the operation cabin and hoisted himself inside with a skilled manoeuvre.

Taking in the assortment of levers and touchscreens before him, Connor retracted the skin from his right hand, smooth white plastic gleaming in the darkness of the cabin. He pressed his hand to the main control panel and began running diagnostics.

After a few seconds, a report flashed up in his field of vision:

**[ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONING]**

Digging deeper, Connor began searching through the machine's logbook for recent activity. After a brief moment of careful review and satisfied that he had obtained all the information needed, Connor removed his hand from the control panel, synthetic skin spreading to again enclose his exposed frame.

He slipped easily from the compartment onto the walkway and called down an update. “I am unable to identify any mechanical issues, Lieutenant. It doesn’t appear to be an equipment malfunction. However the system’s logbook does highlight some interesting activity."

He dropped smoothly down the ladder and landed in front of Hank. “I think it’s time we met the operator in question.”

* * *

The TW400 sat perfectly still in the interview room. The only movement was the soft cycling of his LED, sluggishly stuttering a harsh amber.

His closely shaved head left the battered mess of his face completely unobscured. Blue blood streaked down the left side of his face from a deep cut above his eyebrow where the synthetic skin parted to reveal the shocking white of his exposed plastic frame. A scattering of smaller cuts, mostly healed over, marked the rest of his face. A parting gift from the angry co-workers who had torn him from the cabin of the crane and vented their grief and outrage through a violent attack.

While external physique did not necessarily reflect the strength of an android, the TW400 was designed to reflect the superior motor components which characterised the models’ enhanced physical strength and endurance. A key selling point for a model designed for hard manual labour. In any other circumstances the large man may have seemed imposing, but with his shoulders hunched and body bowed over the table he seemed smaller than his muscular frame would suggest feasible.

In the observation room, Hank and Connor surveyed the troubled android in the company of Chris Miller, the officer who had overseen his arrival at the station.

“Has anyone spoken to him so far?” Hank asked.

Chris shook his head. “We followed protocol. We only spoke to him to inform him that we needed to wait for the on-call android officer before we could ask him any questions.”

It was a new measure that Detroit Police, like many other police departments, had introduced in the face of growing android-related investigations. While laws and regulations were increasingly being rolled out to ensure androids were granted the same rights and protection, cases of injustice against androids were being increasingly reported. To avoid any potential bias, it had been decreed that an android officer must be present for any interviews with android witnesses or suspects. For the Detroit Police Department, it just so happened that they had an android detective perfectly suited to this task.

“His stress levels are rather high,” Connor pointed out, his scans indicating them to be around the 48% mark. “I think it would be best for me to interview him alone so as to avoid any undue stress an additional interviewer might cause.”

Chris looked to Hank who responded with an unfazed shrug.

“I’d go with what he says,” he reassured. “He’s got more patience than I do for this kind of thing in any case.”

Nodding his appreciation, Connor withdrew from the observation room and made his way into the interview room.

The android gave no acknowledgement that he had heard the door sliding open. He remained frozen in place, his expression unreadable as he stared unblinkingly at the polished wood of the table. Even as Connor took his seat in the opposite chair, the man did not react. The only change giving away his awareness of the room’s newest occupant was the subtlest flicker of his LED, still circling amber.

“My name is Connor. I’m a detective android with the Detroit Police Department.”

The worn introduction elicited no reaction, so he further prompted, “Can you tell me your name?”

The android blinked sluggishly before responding. “Jackson.”

"You are employed by Tychon Constructions, is that correct, Jackson?"

A jerky nod in response.

“You’re here because we want to discuss the incident that occurred earlier this morning in which your colleague Nathaneal Miller was killed by a falling beam on a construction site.” When the statement elicited no response, Connor continued, “Given that the crane which hoisted the beam was being controlled by yourself, Jackson, we’d appreciate hearing your account of the incident.”

No response.

Deciding to start off simply and build to the matter at hand, Connor prompted, “Can you tell me a bit about the shopping centre development in Corktown?"

A pause as Jackson continued to stare unwaveringly at the wood of the table.

“It… It’s an ongoing project. A new shopping centre.”

Connor remained silent, waiting for additional details. When seconds passed and it became apparent that no further information was forthcoming, he spoke again.

“How long have you worked for Tychon Constructions, Jackson?”

Again, it appeared Jackson would remain silent, gaze not shifting from the tabletop.

“3 years. Maybe 4 years?”, he replied slowly.

The hesitancy in Jackson’s response gave Connor pause. While this kind of response from a human would be perfectly natural, from an android it was highly unusual. Androids had an almost infallible recall for dates, so to not be able to answer this question with precision was an interesting discrepancy. Weighing up whether to question this further, Connor determined that it wasn’t pertinent to question at this moment, but made a mental note of the response.

“That’s a long time,” Connor instead confirmed amicably. “You must have a lot of experience in the field.”

Jackson gave no acknowledgement of Connor’s statement.

Deciding that direct questioning seemed to be eliciting a better response, Connor carried on.

“Jackson, a man died earlier this morning. We just want to understand what happened. Any information you can give us would help us in our investigation.”

The android gave a jerky nod of acknowledgement.

Taking encouragement in the small response, Connor persisted, “Can you tell me what happened from your perspective?”

“I…I was operating the… the crane,” Jackson started with hesitancy. “We were building the new shopping centre.”

Connor nodded slowly in encouragement.

“I’ve done it hundreds of times over,” Jackson continued, gaze never lifting from the desk before him. “I hoisted the beam and then…” He trailed off.

Connor leaned forward over the desk, his neck craned at an awkward angle as he sought out eye contact from the man who had yet to meet his gaze. “What happened, Jackson?”

“I… I don’t know.” Jackson finally blinked, the movement sluggish.

He was right to tell Hank to sit this one out, Connor thought. Hank wouldn’t have had the patience for this.

“What do you mean, you ‘don’t know’?”

“I… it’s all a blur. One moment I was in control and the next…” he trailed off, eyes widening as he finally looked up to meet Connor’s gaze. Yet as Connor gazed into the man’s eyes he was struck by the far-off quality which seemed to persevere despite the direct eye contact, as though he was still somewhere else entirely.

“Yes?” Connor prompted. An eye on Jackson’s rising stress levels, he softened his tone, “What happened?”

“Then there was so much noise. I looked out the window and - and everyone was moving. I don’t know what happened.”

“You don’t remember anything of what happened between lifting the beam and the accident?"

A barely perceptible shake of the head.

“Jackson, you’re a TW400 model, right?”

A nod.

"And I assume your environmental hazard awareness protocol is still active?"

A hesitant nod.

"Did you detect anything amiss this morning before you began working? Any issues with the crane or the site?"

"I… I didn't."

So he wasn't going to blame any external interference. Connor paused before making a decision.

"Jackson, we visited the scene earlier this morning and checked the cranes logbook." He paused, surveying the man with rapt attention. "The audit trail shows you suddenly changed the path of the beam - an unsafe action in itself - and that you then proceeded to release the load."

"No!" Snapping to life, Jackson shook his head vehemently, his eyes blown wide in panic. "I promise you, I don't remember doing that!"

Connor watched the man's stress levels steadily climbing. 66%.

"The audit trail clearly states you released the load, Jackson. Can you tell me why?"

"I didn't do that," he denied again, continuing to shake his head in refusal.

"The logbook says otherwise and you fail to give any account of what happened," Connor pointed out calmly. "Unless you can provide an alternative explanation, you must admit it doesn't look good."

Jackson remained silent.

Deciding to take a different tack, Connor sat back in his chair, still steadily maintaining eye contact.

"We’re obtaining statements from your colleagues who were also at the scene." When this elicited no reaction, Connor carried on, "It seems they did not take kindly to the incident.” He gestured to the gash on his temple, no longer leaking thirium as it began to close up, but no less grizzly.

Jackson raised a hand to the parted skin, Connor not missing the way it trembled violently.

"It seems quite a harsh reaction. From that response and what your colleagues have said so far, it doesn't seem like they take too kindly to having an android on their team." He paused, watching for any kind of reaction. "I can imagine it must be challenging to work in that kind of environment."

Jackson gave no discernible reaction, shaking hand still raised and softly brushing the split skin of his injury.

"One of your colleagues indicated you and Nathaneal had a troubled relationship,” Connor continued, drawing upon the statements he had read prior to this interview. “He says there was an altercation at the start of the shift. That Nathaneal had made some threatening comments. You didn't retaliate at the time, but apparently you never do. You just endure the comments and get on with your work.” He paused to allow an interjection. “He said he thought Nathaneal may have pushed you one too many times and that you must have finally snapped."

“No,” Jackson protested, his shaking hand slipping down to rest on the tabletop where it continued to twitch restlessly. “I would never - they don’t mean it. I would never - I could never do anything to harm them.”

“And yet at 05:13 this morning you were responsible for releasing the beam which ended Nathaneal’s life,” Connor said harshly. “You deny all knowledge of the incident and refuse to give any explanation for your actions.” He shook his head sadly. “I can understand how you must have felt with the constant harassment and bullying. If you were angry with the way you were treated, that’s perfectly understandable, but why…”

“I didn’t do it!” Jackson interrupted frantically, his eyes pleading. Stress levels rapidly peaking at 89%. “Please, I don’t remember anything. You can probe my memory. You’ll see I didn’t do it!”

That caught Connor’s attention. An android’s memories could not be falsified, so if he was willing to stake his innocence on the evidence of his own memories it was either a last ditch act of desperation or there was more at play here.

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation, Jackson. I am sure that will be useful for our investigation. You’ll need to sign the consent forms and then a member of the Android Operations team will oversee the investigation.”

“Thank you,” Jackson responded softly with an exhale of relief, his eyes slipping closed.

Connor nodded again before realising the motion was lost to the man. “I’ll liaise with the team and set up a consultation.”

When no response followed and with the android seemingly slipping once more into a stupor, Connor took this as his cue to leave.

“An officer will be in touch shortly,” he informed the motionless figure as he rose from his seat. Before he could go further, a thought occurred. “One more question, Jackson. Have you been experiencing any strange symptoms lately? Any error messages or issues flagged by your diagnostic system?”

Jackson remained perfectly unmoving.

Accepting that he was going to get nothing further and that the interview was over, Connor turned to leave the room. As he stepped outside and opened the door to the adjacent observation room where Hank now sat alone, he was greeted by air thick with disappointment and the overwhelming scent of coffee.

“Well, that was informative,” Hank bitterly remarked, clearly frustrated at the evasiveness of their suspect.

“More so than you would think, Lieutenant.” Connor leaned back against the wall, a human act he had begun to emulate despite the fact he experienced no physical discomfort which would be alleviated by the motion.

“Oh yeah?” Hank raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “We’ve got nothing more than the word of a few irate construction workers and the audit trail from the crane. Despite what you were saying in that interview, an audit trail is not infallible.”

“No technology is,” Connor responded thoughtfully. “Including androids.”

Hank surveyed him quizzically. “Where are you going with this?”

“There were a few things which seemed unnatural during that interview. His behaviour is erratic, even allowing for the increased stress of the situation. It goes beyond deviancy. There’s something more at play here. He seemed distracted.”

“He looks exhausted,” Hank remarked as he looked through the glass at the static figure, now almost peaceful with his eyes still closed.

“Exactly. But androids don’t feel exhaustion. Did you notice his response when I asked how long he had been employed by the company? He couldn’t give me an exact date. That’s a detail he should be able to recall with ease. It was an innocent enough question and one we could easily verify, there was no reason to lie in response. If he can’t remember that detail maybe there is some truth to his supposed lapse in memory.”

“You think this is a virus?” Hank asked as he caught up with Connor’s line of thought.

“I think it’s an idea we have to entertain,” Connor said grimly.

Hank cursed in response, the idea leaving him uneasy.

As anti-android protests became suppressed, there had been a shift in the nature of attacks on androids. A new threat emerged in the form of targeted malware. It was an unfortunate by-product of increasing awareness about android programming and physiology. Easily released and proliferated in a society dependent on technology, the viruses had the potential to spread exponentially and were difficult to trace back to the attacker. Entire sub-teams within police departments became specialised in tracing outbreaks and deploying measures to stop their spread.

It was something which hit a little too close to home for Hank. Just a couple of months ago, Connor had contracted such a virus on a case. The onset had been rapid and the consequences dramatic.

They had been at an abandoned office block, investigating the trail of a group responsible for a string of offences against androids. Connor had been fine one moment, intently examining an old computer which showed no signs of life, the next moment Hank had turned his back only to hear a crash as Connor collapsed heavily to the floor.

Heart pounding in fear, Hank had rushed to his side, half expecting to see the shocking blue of thirium leaking through Connor’s shirt. His mind had raced as he tried to piece together what could have happened. There had been nothing to indicate an attack, the only disturbance being the fall itself. But as his anxious hands frantically searched for signs of injury, he was interrupted by Connor calmly informing him that he wasn’t hurt, but he no longer had control over his motor components - as if that was a reassurance.

A basic diagnostic scan had enabled Connor to quickly pinpoint the malware - a simple virus which had inhibited his motor functions and left him largely paralysed. Connor had insisted that his own antivirus software would easily fight off the intrusive malware and he would be fine with a couple of hours rest. Even so, Hank had been frantic with worry as he called on every contact at his disposal. Despite Connor’s calm assurances to the contrary, for all Hank knew Connor could have been dying as he lay prone.

Thankfully Connor’s faith in his own antivirus software was validated and he made a full recovery within just a few hours, but the powerlessness Hank had felt in those hours stuck with him. He wasn’t inexperienced with the dangers that came with the job, with his years in police work he had seen his fair share of violence and injury. Yet there was something comforting in the physicality of a gunshot or stab wound. In the wake of such an injury a simple list of priorities emerged: stem the bleeding, call for help, pray nothing vital was hit. A virus was completely beyond his capabilities to handle though. Hank was no good with computers, he still felt it was something of a joke that he had fallen into android investigations merely by association with Connor. He could barely change the settings on his phone, never mind fathom how a few lines of code could leave a man debilitated.

“I’ll let the Antivirus team know, they can perform a full screen,” Connor said, breaking through Hank’s spiralling thoughts. Shifting his balance so he no longer rested on the wall, he made to leave the room.

“Hey,” Hank halted him, a concerned furrow to his brow. “You connected with that crane earlier - the same crane as our guy here. You sure you’re okay?”

Connor felt a rush of unexpected warmth at the display of concern. “I’m fine, Hank,” he was quick to reassure. “My self-tests all came back negative for any malware.”

“You should be checked out by AV as well,” Hank insisted, still uneasy as he thought back to the last time Connor had been struck by a virus. “If it’s truly a new virus, it might be too sophisticated even for your fancy ass systems to detect.”

Connor sighed dejectedly, knowing that Hank was correct but also fully aware the consequence of this would be a strict embargo on any involvement in active cases, or from going near any computer interfaces until he received the all-clear.

“I guess I’m on filing duty for the rest of the day, then?”

“Yep,” Hank gave a small smile which didn’t quite mask the worry which lingered in his eyes. “Unless you’d rather be on coffee duty?”

* * *

Hours of monotonous filing and menial tasks later and Connor found himself rarely grateful for the end of the day. He had gone to see the Antivirus Team for a full virus screen and, as anticipated, had found himself labelled a potential infection risk with strict instructions to avoid any contact with other androids or technology until the results came back tomorrow. The restless pent-up energy rolling off of him was palpable as the pair clocked off and left the station to be greeted by the now failing daylight.

Sensing Connor’s frustration, Hank took pity on him. “Come on, let’s head home.”

In the wake of the revolution it had seemed mundane to consider the humdrum of living arrangements. After their reunion outside the Chicken Feed, they had spent hours ruminating on all that had happened and speculating on the wider future promised by the political and social reaction to the android uprising. As the hours slipped away and darkness began to creep in, Hank had gone to bid farewell but paused, suddenly struck by a thought.

When he had asked Connor where he was heading next, Connor had seemed thrown by the question, as though he genuinely hadn’t considered this thought. After a brief hesitation, he had proceeded to give a vague answer that he would return to the police station. Although there was still an active suspension on androids working, he was confident that they would soon be permitted to return to essential roles with the country’s workforce as significantly impacted as it was. When that time came the force would need all hands on deck.

Hank had immediately called bullshit and all but frogmarched him back to his house.

Awkwardness had been a hallmark of those first few weeks of living together. Besides the typical adjustments of learning to live harmoniously with another person, it was at this point that Hank was forced to realise that despite the time he had spent working with Connor he was still naive to so much of the android’s life. What did he do when he wasn’t working or helping to lead a population to freedom? Did he do anything or did he just power down? Did the kid even sleep?

For all Hank’s uncertainty, Connor seemed equally out of his depth. In those early days he was constantly expressing his gratitude to the lieutenant for allowing him to stay. Seemingly uncertain of the pair’s new dynamic, he held himself with a stiff formality and his gratitude became manifest in him doing everything within the limited scope of his domestic experience to make Hank’s life easier. The house had never been so clean and the fridge became full of fresh produce Hank had no intention of using. Through it all Connor seemed incapable of relaxing, pacing around with a frenetic energy that had nagged away at Hank’s patience until it found its release in a misplaced bout of anger at a wilted bag of spinach.

It hadn’t been his finest moment and he’d felt guilty for it later, but it had been enough to finally break through the tension that had been hanging heavy in the house. That evening Connor had joined him on the couch and they had watched the Gears game, laughing and joking in comfortable companionship as the spinach wilted away in the trash.

Through trial and error they had learned to live harmoniously. Hell, Hank found himself appreciating the company. Underscoring it all there was an understanding between the two now: a fondness and familiarity born of surviving the improbable and emerging from the other side of the android revolution unharmed.

Like all good things in his life, Hank should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Actually,” Connor interrupted his thoughts, “I need to stop by Midtown to check out an apartment before heading back.”

“Oh right,” Hank nodded slowly in acknowledgement, his heart sinking. “You have the viewing today.”

Hank hadn’t forgotten this detail, but he was loath to dwell on it.

Amid the chaos of a world turned on its head and the problems presented with the recognition of an entirely new population came another issue. With many androids electing to leave their former homes and places of employment, the question arose of where to house the many androids left homeless. While Jericho had been a sanctuary during the uprising and continued to offer security and solidarity in the fallout, it wasn’t a viable long-term option.

As things began to settle after many months, business tycoons saw a window of opportunity and the market saw a surge in the construction of purpose-built ‘android homes’. Without the need for human amenities like a kitchen, bathroom or bedroom, construction was rapid and soon minimalist high-rises marketed as safe-havens for androids began popping up across the country. The builds proved a success, particularly in the epicentre of Detroit, where android numbers were greatest and the human population rapidly dwindled in the wake of residual uncertainty and fear from the civil war that had raged on it’s streets just a few short months ago. It was a win-win situation for developers. All with the added bonus of enhancing their public image by appearing as a generous and sympathetic supporter of the android population.

“I know you’re hesitant about the situation, Hank,” Connor smiled ruefully, seemingly picking up on his discontent. “But I can assure you the property has been independently vetted. It’s a safe space.”

“S’not my problem,” Hank huffed, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets as he squinted up at the scaffolded developments which were visible in the distant skyline. “I just don’t care for the assholes taking advantage. I get that you don’t need a kitchen and all that, but half the space for the double the rent? Seems a piss-take to me.”

“People are just grateful to be granted the right to their own home, Hank. Not so long ago that seemed impossible. Besides, as you say, on a practical level it’s not like I need that much space.”

“Sure, I get it. But if the place is a shithole or they’re taking advantage, you keep looking until you find somewhere better.” Hank’s gruff response left no room for argument as he continued to frown his disdain at the distant buildings.

Connor couldn’t help the fond smile which tugged at the corners of his mouth as he heard the protectiveness which came through in Hank’s words despite his closed-off stance.

“I am certain it will be fine, Hank. Besides, I’ve imposed on you long enough. The world’s finally a more accepting place for my kind and it’s time I found my place in it.”

Hank remained silent, biting down every cynical thought that fought to be voiced. Everything in him hated the idea. Connor belonged back home with him and Sumo, not alone in some tiny minimalist apartment. Still, it wasn’t his place to make that call. Connor deserved a shot at his own independent happiness.

If Hank was honest with himself though, he was really going to miss the kid. As plans started coming into place, the daunting prospect of an empty house loomed nearer. Memories of years spent wallowing in grief and too many nights lost to drunken misery rose up unbidden. The thought of returning to that after finally finding a domestic happiness he never thought he’d experience again weighed heavily.

“You want me to come with you?” Hank asked, shaking himself from his disgruntled reflection.

Connor gave a derisive laugh, “I don’t think physically being in the apartment complex is going to do much for your opinion on the matter.” He shook his head, a small smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. “I won’t be long in any case.”

Hank grunted an affirmation. “Right. Well, hope it’s not a shithole.”

Connor laughed again before bidding farewell. As he turned to leave, he was halted by Hank's gruff call.

“Call me if anything happens?”

There was that concern again. Connor should have guessed that it was going to be a while before that worry eased. Knowing that repeating the same arguments about feeling fine and not finding any issues on his self-scans would do little to assuage Hank’s fear, he nodded.

“Will do,” he promised.

* * *

Connor came through the door to be greeted by the chaotic mass of energy that was Sumo clumsily barrelling towards him and knocking him to the floor. The two really were a ridiculously goofy duo, Hank thought fondly as he watched them rolling around from his spot on the couch.

“How was the shithole?” he asked as Connor finally fought his way to an upright position. Apparently satisfied that he’d made his welcome known, Sumo traipsed back to his usual spot in the corner of the living room, plonking himself down with a contented exhale.

“The _apartment_ ,” Connor stressed, “looks good.” Rising to his feet he dusted off the smart attire he still elected to wear, so closely reminiscent of his old Cyberlife uniform minus the glowing identifiers. “I think you’d like it if you gave it a chance,” he added in the face of Hank’s skeptical scowl.

Hank merely hummed dismissively.

“I met some of the neighbors,” Connor continued. “A couple who have just returned from Canada. They fled there before the revolution but came back to Detroit a couple of months ago. They’re very friendly.”

“They sound delightful,” Hank dryly acknowledged.

"They seem like good people. I think you'd approve of them."

Hank signed heavily. He didn't have it in him to keep up niceties.

“It’s been a long day and I’m beat, Connor. Think I’m going to call it a night.”

Hank rose to his feet with a grunt of discomfort, his hand reaching to massage out the knot in his shoulder from where he had been too long stationary. Resigned to the fact that his body was as happy as it was going to be, he reached down to grab the TV remote from the coffee table.

“You want the TV on?” He asked, gesturing with the remote.

“Thank you, but no. I plan on running some maintenance tasks.”

“You’re going to sleep - into standby?” Hank corrected himself, still uneasy with the terminology.

“Yes. Our recent cases have put some additional strain on my processors. Besides, if there is a chance that a new malware threat is on the horizon, I’d like to ensure my systems are running to optimal efficiency.”

Hank wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Makes sense,” he agreed. “Well, the gist of it does. Not sure I get the specifics. Not that I want to get the specifics," He quickly amended before Connor tried to seize the opportunity to start delving into a detailed technical breakdown of the process.

Connor gave a warm smile, a hint of amusement in his eyes at Hank’s floundering speech.

“Goodnight, Hank.”

Hank nodded, grateful that he’d gotten away without a lesson in android mechanics. “Night.”

As he gathered up his phone from the side table, Hank turned around to add, “I do _not_ need a wake up call, by the way. Any time before 08:00 am is not something I want to be seeing again in a fucking hurry.”

“Whatever you say, Hank,” Connor acquiesced as Hank retreated to his room, making a mental note to ensure he woke Hank up at 08:00 am precisely.

A few weeks after they first began living together, Hank had become suddenly acquainted with the android version of sleep. Standby, Connor called it. In those early days after the revolution Connor would be busy most nights, leaving late in the evening and returning early in the morning to make sure Hank woke up at a reasonable hour. Often he would visit what remained of Jericho, sometimes he would work extra shifts with the police. Hank suspected his exhaustive efforts to do good had something to do with the residual guilt he felt for the time spent pursuing deviants.

Hank hadn't expected Connor to be home that first night. It was a ridiculous hour of the morning and Hank had woken from a nightmare - not an uncommon occurrence - to the whining of a full bladder. Unable to tune out his body’s demands, he had been forced to stumble from the bedroom to the bathroom. But as he turned to close the bathroom door behind him, he had been distracted by the faintest of yellow lights flickering and reflecting off the wall of the living room. Perplexed, he had followed the faint glow to find Connor standing stock-still and eyes closed in the middle of the darkened room. The LED on his temple cycling amber and bathing the dim room in flickering light.

The shock of the unexpected silhouette had woken Hank quickly as his fatigue gave way to a cold flash of fear. With a startled yell, he had let out a string of curses as he tried to calm his racing heart and the instinctive twitch of his hand searching for a gun. Something of the colorful tirade which followed must have filtered through, because Connor’s eyes had promptly flickered open.

Thanking a deity he had long given up hope in that his revolver now lived hidden away in a draw, Hank had shakily gone to sink onto the nearest chair as Connor calmly greeted him and stated that he had been in standby. It wasn’t something he needed to do every night, he had been quick to explain, but it was something he needed to do regularly to keep his systems running optimally. Something about performing a system backup and transferring data to Cyberlife servers. A lot of Connor’s detailed techno-babble had filtered straight over Hank’s head and was drowned out by the adrenaline still coursing through his system. From what he could remember though, Connor had also mentioned something about system updates and ensuring his software was running up-to-date.

All Hank really remembers clearly is asking why the hell Connor was standing rigidly in the middle of the room and not just lying on the couch like a normal person.

Connor had merely looked bewildered as he’d explained that he was perfectly able to go into standby in any position, but standing was the default as it minimised the physical space necessary. Hank’s anger had softened somewhat at the self-depreciating response. Still, it was hardly justification for nearly giving him an aneurysm. The kid was seriously going to be the death of him.

It took some belligerent pestering, but eventually Connor got the message that he should sleep horizontally and preferably on a soft surface. After their living arrangement became more permanent and Connor started spending less nights away, Hank had taken it upon himself to ditch his worn old couch in favour of a pullout sofa bed. He still felt guilty that he couldn’t offer Connor a room of his own, but Connor had vehemently vetoed the idea of Hank having to move house or make any kind of significant adjustment to his home. Although Connor had protested repeatedly that comfort was not an issue for him, the pullout bed went some small way to easing Hank’s conscience on the nights it was needed.

With the sound of Hank’s bedroom door softly closing, Connor went about wrestling the pullout bed into place. Ears perking up at the familiar sound, Sumo rose up from his position in the corner and happily padded over before thumping down on the ground in his usual space near the head of the bed.

“Good dog, Sumo.”

Connor reached down to ruffle his fur gently before unlacing his shoes and slipping them off. He straightened up, removing his tie and jacket and placing them with care on the hangers which waited on the otherwise unused coat rack for nights like this. He would have been perfectly content to lie down for the night fully dressed, but that always made Hank uneasy, so he stripped off his more formal clothing in a motion made to ease Hank’s discomfort more than his own.

Sitting down on the bed he ran through the list of tasks he had queued up for completion during the night: data backups, system updates, hard drive maintenance and defragmentation. Expected time to completion: 6 hours.

Satisfied that everything was on track, Connor reached down to give a final pet to Sumo before flicking off the switch of the table lamp beside him and easing down into the bed. As Connor slipped easily into standby, the room fell perfectly still. The only sound to fill the space was the faint whirring of Connor’s ventilation system softly picking up as it worked to circulate cool air to his active systems.

In the peaceful stillness of the room, the angry red flashing of an LED went undetected as it cycled once - twice - three times, before slipping back to the usual steady yellow of standby.


	2. An Error Has Occurred

Hank woke before the alarm to a room still in darkness save for the first weak hints of feeble winter morning light sneaking through the cracked blinds - cold and uninviting. Despite the early hour, he knew it would be futile to chase further sleep. That didn’t stop him from stubbornly rolling over and burying his face in the pillow with a groan.

He blamed Connor for his altered circadian rhythm. Before he’d come along, Hank had a routine going; a routine that centred around drinking late into the night until he fell into a sedated stupor and facing the consequences in the morning. Granted it wasn’t the healthiest of habits, but it was a routine, and firmly established after three years of practice.

Things had changed with Connor in the picture. For one thing, lazy lie-ins were apparently not a luxury programmed into the android’s industrious persona. With a military-like efficiency he would enter the room like a whirlwind and rouse Hank whenever he deemed it passed a reasonable hour. Curtains would be flung open and a too loud voice would break the peace, joined by Sumo’s excited barking as he followed Connor’s bad example. Unfortunately it was a practice no amount of threats or violent cursing on Hank’s end seemed to affect.

On a deeper level though, he found himself needing to self-medicate to sleep less and less. The numbing depression which had been his constant for years had eased considerably in the presence of a newfound contentment. There was always going to be a persistent ache and there were always going to be bad days, but having someone there on those days to ease him away from self-destruction certainly made things easier.

It was hard to feel grateful for that when the early hour mocked him from the bedside table though. Too early to be up, too late to go back to sleep.

He got up with a resigned moan. If we couldn't go back to sleep, he could at least show his face so Connor knew he was up in a timely manner.

“I'm up and it’s too fucking early,” he announced, the picture of morning misery as he opened his bedroom door and headed towards the kitchen. He cursed loudly as he misjudged his path in the dimly lit corridor and bumped into the unforgiving edge of a side table.

He was prepared to be greeted by an amused quip about his morning inelegance or surly demeanour, but the action went unacknowledged. As the silence stretched on, he ceased gingerly rubbing his abused hip and turned to check the living room.

At first he thought the room was vacant after all, that Connor had slipped out silently to do whatever the hell it was that he did when he wasn’t home. Yet the pull-out bed still crowded the space and Connor was meticulous in ensuring he put it away. Moving warily closer, Hank was startled to be greeted by the sight of Connor lying still and silent in the peaceful calm of standby.

Shaking his surprise, Hank took in the rare view with a growing smirk. It wasn’t often that he actually saw Connor in standby. Normally he would wake long before Hank, his body’s demand for rest being far shorter than a human's greedy need for sleep. With his defences down, it was hard to believe the goofy form disguised a highly capable and sometimes ruthless detective. The kid somehow managed to look awkward even in unconsciousness - lying flat on his back with his arms stiffly by his side, his body still held a formal rigidity which was only somewhat softened by the bed on which he rested.

Ever attached, Sumo was lying stretched out by the head of the bed, as physically close to Connor as he could possibly be whilst still confined to the floor. When he heard Hank enter the room his head perked up from where it had been resting on the ground and he leaped to his feet with an excited bark before lumbering over.

“He's got to you too, huh?” Hank muttered softly as he ruffled the fur of his neck. “Don’t tell me you’re becoming an early bird now and all?”

Sumo merely gave a happy grumble of response as he slipped from Hank’s hands and shuffled expectantly over to the door.

“No, we’re not going for a walk just yet. That’s what Connor’s for. Speaking of..." he trailed off with a frown as he glanced again at Connor still lying motionless despite Sumo’s noise.

As he gazed at Connor’s peaceful form, Hank was overcome by the sudden desire to wake him in a less than considerate manner. Perhaps it was immature, but he justified that it was only fair retaliation for all the times he himself had been harshly awoken.

With an anticipatory glee perhaps unbecoming of a man his age, Hank made to grab his phone from his pocket and began flicking through mp3 files. He settled upon a particularly energetic track, paused to ensure the volume was at its maximum, then hit play and quickly thrust the speaker in Connor’s direction.

Connor's eyes snapped open at the sudden blare of noise and he abruptly jolted to an upright position.

"Hank - what -" Connor stuttered in a haze of confusion, eyes wide and mouth comically agape.

Hank couldn't help the raucous laughter which followed. He had seen Connor dealing with many new emotions since becoming deviant, but the shock expressed on the usually composed and confident face was an entirely new occurrence. Compared to his usually immaculate presentation, it was the closest to dishevelled Hank had ever seen him.

"Call it karmic payback," Hank was finally able to answer once his laughter abated. "Figured it was time I repay the favour for all the early wake up calls."

The stiff posture persisted despite Hank’s amusement.

"It was a joke, Connor," Hank clarified with a grin.

Connor still seemed to be struggling to catch up.

"A joke?"

"Yeah, a joke. A damn funny one too," Hank added with satisfaction.

"I - I see."

Hank could practically hear the cogs or whatever machinery powered that great mind turning.

"Jesus, Connor, I’ve never seen you this fazed. I thought it was only me that couldn't function in the morning?"

“No, I understand." Connor seemed to shake himself from his daze, reverting to his usual composed demeanour as he swung his legs around to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think it was funny though.”

Hank huffed out a laugh. “You didn’t see your face. I didn’t know you could make that expression. What happened? Were you buffering?”

Connor ignored the quip, choosing to instead rise to his feet and set about gathering his clothes in what Hank was sure was his way of regaining some dignity. Shaking his head in fond amusement, Hank retreated to the kitchen.

“How come you were still in standby anyway?” he called over his shoulder as he pulled a mug from the drying rack. “Thought you’d be long awake by now?”

“I’m not sure,” Connor responded quietly after a brief hesitation. “By initial estimates, the maintenance tasks I was running during standby should have reached completion more than an hour ago.”

Light mood suddenly forgotten, Hank abandoned his mug as he walked back to pause in the halfway space between the kitchen and the living room with a wary frown.

“That doesn’t sound good?” he asked hesitantly.

Connor gave a distracted shake of his head as he met Hank’s eyes and straightened his tie.

“It’s nothing. There must have just been some additional tasks that came up during standby.”

Hank wasn’t convinced, but he was sure if he pressed it further Connor would delve into a complicated technical explanation. If that happened, he’d have no way of knowing if Connor was telling the truth or a lie through the layers of jargon. He was sure it was common knowledge which his partner had exploited on more than one occasion.

“But you’re okay, yeah?” he hedged instead.

“Of course,” the response came a bit too quickly. “I’m fine, Hank.”

Hank considered him carefully, thoughts of yesterday’s virus scare heavy on his mind. Connor seemed well enough. Certainly didn’t look like there was anything wrong with him. Mind you, he’d seen the kid masking critical injuries with no discernible reaction in the past so that wasn’t much reassurance.

“You’d better take Sumo for his walk,” he eventually settled on saying. “I expect he’s been pining for you for hours while you've been snoring away.”

“I’m certain I don’t snore,” Connor stated simply as he slipped on his jacket and Sumo bounded up to him expectantly.

“Yeah, you do,” Hank joked fondly. “You talk in your sleep and all. 'Zeros' and 'ones'.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Connor scoffed. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he added as he grabbed Sumo’s lead from its usual spot by the front door.

"Fine. But if we're late to work you're explaining to Fowler that it's on you for sleeping in." Hank shrugged before returning to his search for caffeine.

* * *

As he walked across the front yard with Sumo, Connor tried to make sense of the unease which had been lingering since he was startled awake.

There was usually an increased clarity to his cognitive processes immediately following a period of standby. The next day his processors would seem to fire with optimal efficiency. Observations and deductions came with an ease and speed that exceeded even his usual high performance. It was an exhilarating rush of energy brought about by the optimisation of his systems.

That feeling was absent today.

When he reviewed his system status, it was clear that the necessary tasks had been undertaken during standby. He should have been firing on all cylinders and yet there was something decidedly off.

Connor hadn’t mentioned it to Hank. Nor had he mentioned the antivirus scan he was continuing to run in the background. It was just a precautionary measure after all. Despite the calming blue feedback being relayed to his HUD which assured him that there were zero threats detected, he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that his diagnostic scans were missing something.

Hank would have called it a gut instinct - a concept Connor had always struggled to grasp. But although he lacked the corresponding gastrointestinal systems to know if what he was feeling was truly representative of the human experience, it was an instinctive sensation he was finally now understanding.

It went against all logical reasoning and evidence-based thinking, but his gut instinct was that something was wrong.

Hank always said to trust a gut instinct.

* * *

“I was right,” Connor announced triumphantly as he stepped up to Hank’s desk at the station later that morning with a broad grin in place. “I’ve just received the all-clear from the Antivirus team. They found no traces of any malware."

“Thank God,” Hank murmured, breaking into a relieved smile as he spun his chair to face Connor. “Knew you’d be fine. Just maybe don’t go connecting to any strange machinery at crime scenes from now on, eh? Just in case.”

“It was the scene of an accident, Lieutenant. Not a crime scene.”

“That’s bullshit. You were effectively calling it a crime scene when we first got there.”

“I was merely speculating based upon the information available at the time,” Connor said, raising his hands in a placating manner.

Hank shook his head in disbelief at his partner’s obstinance.

“Yeah, sure. In any case, I'm not filling out the incident forms to explain why the DPD had to run a virus screen on their own staff. You can explain why you acted like a fucking idiot with no regard for security.”

“There was no reason to suspect a virus was a possibility at the time,” Connor argued defensively as he pulled a chair around to the edge of Hank’s desk and sat down.

Hank gave a disparaging hum, looking Connor over with an unimpressed expression.

“Cyberlife really didn’t programme you with self-preservation instincts, did they?”

“I know when the benefits of a course of action outweigh the risks. It was a low-risk situation with nothing to suggest malicious malware was a possibility. Besides, the information we could derive from the crane was valuable to the investigation.”

“For fucks sake, not this again,” Hank sighed heavily before smacking an open palm on the desk in emphasis. “ _Any_ risk to your wellbeing is an unacceptable trade-off. No matter the supposed benefits. You're worth more than that. When are you going to get that?"

“It doesn’t matter,” Connor dismissed. “We got the information we needed and no harm was done.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Hank echoed under his breath. “You’re not replaceable any more, Connor. Not that you ever were, but you know what I mean. Cyberlife aren’t making models any more. Once you’re gone, that’s it. No freaky body switching. No second chances."

“I’m well aware,” Connor acknowledged, before diverting the conversation with a quirked eyebrow. “Don’t you want to know about the results of the antivirus screen for our suspect?”

Hank threw him a look which showed he was not satisfied with Connor’s commitment to take greater care. Ultimately his curiosity won out over his stubbornness though, as Connor knew it would.

“The results are back?”

“There was no malware detected.”

“None?” Hank exclaimed. “Shit. What does that mean? Are we back to looking at a potential murder charge?”

“Not necessarily,” Connor paused as he considered how best to explain. “The AV technicians did detect several instances of corrupted memory data which may explain his unusual behaviour. It's commonly a symptom of external interference. The AV team is reviewing his system log to try and establish the origin of the errors.”

Hank raised a querying eyebrow as a prompt to elaborate further.

“System log?”

“All androids have an inbuilt system log which catalogues every action they execute. It was a legal requirement of the _American Androids Act_ ,” Connor obligingly clarified.

Hank looked surprised, his other eyebrow shooting up to join it’s counterpart.

“Oh yeah? How come I never heard of that before?”

“It was in the briefing we received when we took on the deviancy investigations,” Connor said by way of explanation, knowing Hank had been too caught up in his distaste for his new assignment at the time to do the background reading.

“Oh.” Hank looked mildly abashed as he arrived at the same memory of his initial reaction to his assigned partner.

“It was a measure intended as a way of resolving any potential disputes regarding accountability for an android’s actions,” Connor quickly continued. “If a legal case ever arose, how would they be able to prove whether an android's action was a result of their programming or enacted on behalf of their owner? Cyberlife needed a way of protecting themselves.”

Hank gave an amused hum of interest. “Almost like they saw deviancy coming.”

“It does seem quite prophetic,” Connor agreed.

Hank crossed his arms and tilted his head far back over the top of his seat. His expression was thoughtful as he scrutinised the ceiling high above him while he processed the new information.

“I guess that means they’re keeping the suspect in quarantine until we know one way or another?”

Connor nodded in confirmation. “If it is a virus, we can’t risk it being spread to the wider populace.”

Hank gave a weary sigh, lifting his head to again meet Connor’s focused gaze.

“So what do we do now?”

“It would be helpful to try and determine when the error occurred. If we can pinpoint a timeframe for when Jackson began exhibiting a change in behaviour, it may help us to narrow down the source of the errors. Perhaps -"

He was interrupted by a disturbance breaking out a short way away, an irate yell breaking through the physical barrier of the space between the office and main reception.

You’re telling me that a plastic bastard is responsible for investigating?”

“There’s our 10 o’clock,” Hank muttered, his face falling into an expression of disdain. It was a look Connor knew well and never bode well for the recipient.

"A witness from the incident yesterday?" Connor guessed.

Hank gave an exaggerated sigh as he lazily waved a dismissive hand. "Red tape. Until we know otherwise, we have to carry on under the assumption of foul play. We’re still obtaining witness statements from everyone who was at the scene. This Martinez guy is a bit of a shit though.”

“If he’s worked with Jackson for an extended period, it might not be a bad idea to interview him. He may be able to help us identify whether Jackson exhibited any changes in his behaviour prior to the incident.”

Before Hank could give voice to his skepticism, the relative calm of the office was quickly shattered as the source of the disruption rounded the corner. A burly man in his mid-thirties, tall in stature with a body built by hard manual labour and a face lined with determination.

He marched purposefully up to Hank’s desk, eyes focused only on Connor. The commanding approach drove Hank and Connor to their feet as he closed the distance between them. A hush fell over the room as the officers at the surrounding desks paused in their activities, trained eyes watching for an altercation and ready to intervene.

As the man stopped before them, his eyes darted briefly to the light of the LED on Connor’s temple, the sight seeming to spark the anger which radiated from the man.

“You,” he greeted sharply as he took a step forward to an uncomfortably close proximity. Up close, Connor noted the traces of ethanol present on his breath, the crumpled clothing, and the red-rimmed eyes which indicated a night of emotional disturbance.

His attention was diverted from his observations by a finger gesturing menacingly in his face. Connor felt Hank bristle beside him, noting the subtle shift of his body as he angled himself as though to intervene.

“Don’t think that just because you carry a badge you command respect,” Martinez continued. “It’s a fucking joke.”

He turned with arms raised in an exaggerated show of exasperation, as though appealing to the room that had fallen into silence at the sudden outburst. “How can you stand it? It’s bad enough they’re still in our schools, our hospitals. Now they’re in law enforcement? What next? Our government?"

“Alright,” Hank broke in, the tenuous hold he had on his patience already lost as he reached out to grip the man’s arm. “You’ve made your point.”

“No.” Martinez shook off the arm that tried to pull him back and turned again to face Connor, who maintained a politely neutral expression as he found himself the focus of an impassioned speech. "The whole thing is corrupt! I’ll bet you’ve been planted by some sympathizer to ensure that the plastics can’t be prosecuted. As soon as anyone gets a glimpse of the truth, you go off crying victim. Playing on humanity’s guilty conscience.”

“As an officer of the law, I am only looking to establish the truth of the situation,” Connor calmly stated, meeting the fiery gaze of his accuser with the same neutral expression. “Whether the party be guilty or innocent, justice will be fairly dealt.”

He was cut off by a derisive laugh. The clear sharp noise stark in the collective quiet of the room.

“Then why are the androids always painted as the victim, huh? Nathaneal was _killed_ by that thing! Everyone knows it wasn’t an accident. We all got the same training about our plastic _colleagues_ , we know what they should and should not be able to do. Cause an accident? Bullshit. Always knew one day they’d turn against us!”

Martinez paused with a rueful shake of his head. Hands clasped in fists by his sides as he visibly battled to contain his anger.

"Then I hear that you’ve been going around spouting claims that it shouldn’t be blamed for its actions. That it wasn’t in control. Some kind of virus? Like hell this was anything but cold blue-blooded murder!”

That was a concerning development. Allegations of preferential treatment were nothing new. The LED on Connor’s temple, an open display of what he was, often elicited such accusations. The man's knowledge that they suspected a virus on the other hand, that was information which should have been far from the public ear. Which could only mean someone within the police force had messed up, or worse, deliberately let slip the information.

"I assure you we're performing a thorough investigation and will explore every avenue to get to the truth of what happened," Connor carefully reiterated.

"And when you don't like the truth? What then? Make up some shitting nonsense about a virus?"

“We have to consider it as a possibility, but that’s one of many-”

“Bullshit!” Martinez interrupted. “We’re expected to treat you like precious fucking snowflakes. But you know what? If you want equal rights then you have to face the same consequences for your actions!"

“That’s enough!” Hank interjected, stepping further into the fray as his anger built past it's breaking point. "He told you we're looking into all possibilities. Why the hell can't you accept that?"

“Why are you on his side? Don’t tell me you’re a sympathiser too? Christ, is there no sanity left in this world?”

"With assholes like you? I'm starting to doubt it," Hank deadpanned.

Martinez’s upper lip curled upwards into a sneer in response.

“You know it’s only a matter of time before you’re replaced by one of these bastards, right?”

Hank looked to Connor, whose continued calm was a balm to his own growing anger.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” he muttered with the small quirk of a smile. “You’re definitely not warming me to humanity right now.”

Martinez gave a shaky laugh of disbelief before returning his attention to Connor.

“I’ve already had reporters hounding me for a first-hand account of what happened. I’m sure they’ll be interested to hear all the shit that’s going on here. They’ll make sure your corruption of the law doesn’t go unreported.”

Connor’s retort was interrupted by Hank stepping in front of him, effectively shielding him from Martinez’s steely glare.

“Yeah, you go run away to the vultures. See if they believe you without any proof. Whose side do you think they’ll fall on? The fucking sanctimonious asshole caught up in the past or the the innocent people they’re still trying to oppress?”

It was a provocation too far. Hank saw the movement, the clenching of a fist and the motion of a body as the man's full weight and considerable strength went into the swing. Years on the beat and an antagonistic personality allowed him the experienced reflexes to dodge out of the way.

Connor should have reacted quicker. As it was, he realised a split second too late that the fist which Hank so skillfully dodged was now set on a rapid course for collision with his own face.

The hit landed squarely on the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes, the uninterrupted momentum lending it additional force. Connor stumbled back under the impact, his vision shorting out to static as his optical units were knocked temporarily offline by the strength of the blow.

When his vision came back in fractured pixels, it was to the sight of a room which had burst into a rush of trained and efficient action. Three sets of arms detained the man, still shouting abuse as he was hurled back and away. Further bodies held back Hank who was yelling his own insults at the retreating figure.

As the man disappeared from view, Hank shrugged himself free from the restraining hands with a few choice curses and looked to his partner. His eyes widened in alarm at whatever he saw.

Connor merely blinked back at him as he attempted to clear the error messages accumulating in his still sketchy field of vision.

“Ah, shit. Connor, you’re…” Hank trailed off, his previously furious voice softening into concern as he raised a hand to tap his nose.

Puzzled, Connor echoed the motion and found his hand come away streaked with blue. With the visual cue he suddenly became aware of the error message notifying him of the ruptured thirium line which was leaving a thick and steady stream of blue blood dripping from his nose and across his lips. The alert was almost lost amongst the noise of feedback clouding his vision.

“Oh,” he uttered lamely as he watched a drop fall and land on his still raised hand.

"You alright?"

“I’m fine,” he quickly reassured, hastily wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to clear his lips and likely succeeding only in smearing the gore. “Where did they take him?”

“Custody. He'll be spending some time in one of the holding cells. Assaulting an officer in a police station full of witnesses? Not the smartest move.” The response was gruffly spoken, but there was a hint of satisfaction to it despite the situation.

Connor was suddenly thankful that Hank didn’t get to throw the first punch. He didn’t think Fowler would stand for yet another strike against his record.

“But our witness interview?” he asked worriedly.

“Postponed,” Hank quickly reassured. “Although frankly I’m more interested in pursuing charges against the bastard.”

Connor felt a flash of annoyance at the unnecessary delay to their investigation and his own failure to intervene. Why had he not reacted in time? His cognitive profile was extraordinary and he could read a person or a situation with ease, he should have been able to intercept long before the situation reached its boiling point. Even then, he was designed to excel in combat and should have been able to avoid the hit with little conscious thought. Reconstructing the recent memory in his mind, he could devise six different ways he could have evaded or intercepted the blow.

Nothing in his reconstruction of events explained his failure to act.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hank muttered. His eyes drifted to the officers still milling around as they watched the bloodied detective with curiosity and he raised his voice deliberately as he added in their direction, "Some people never seen a man bleed blue before."

With a parting accusatory glare at their colleagues, Hank roughly placed a steering arm around Connor’s back. He swept him from the office down the corridor and passed several more curious onlookers, heading down the corridor to the relative privacy of the restroom. As the door closed behind them, Hank left Connor standing by the row of sinks as he ducked into a stall, his curses echoing through the tiled room.

"It's nothing," Connor again assured as Hank reappeared with a fistful of tissue.

"Mm-hmm, sure. I don't know what to do about that by the way," Hank admitted as he gestured vaguely at Connor’s face and handed over the wad of tissue. "Will it stop bleeding if you pinch it?"

Connor hummed a dissent as he took the proffered tissue and began wiping away the mess.

"Thirium doesn't coagulate like human blood," he explained. “My self-repairs will handle it."

Hank took that as his cue to run a hand over his own face in a show of exasperation.

"That fucking asshole. Where the hell did he get all that information about the investigation from? How did he know about the virus thing? Someone on the force needs to shut their goddamn mouth."

Connor couldn't help the irritation which rose up again unbidden as the mention of their investigation.

"I had the situation in hand, Lieutenant. Meeting anger with anger never does anything to help the situation. Why didn't you let me handle it?"

Hank looked at him disbelievingly. "You expected me to just stand by and let him keep throwing accusations at you in front of everyone?"

“If that’s what it took to progress our investigation? Yes. Now we’re facing unnecessary delays because of your inability to act rationally and control your emotions.”

“Well, excuse me for having your back," Hank shot back. "I thought we were passed the whole 'emotionless machine' phase?”

The casual reference to his pre-deviated personality served only to heighten Connor’s growing frustration. As Hank well knew, it was an aspect of his being which he struggled to reconcile. Despite repeated reassurances that he was not accountable for his actions whilst acting under the constraints of his programming, he still felt guilty for all he had done prior to deviancy.

“It’s possible to have emotions and control them,” he argued somewhat more defensively than he intended. “You let your emotions cloud your judgement. It leaves you irrational."

"Yeah, well some of us don't have an ‘off’ switch on their emotions. Would sure make life a hell of a lot easier if we did."

“You don’t need to be concerned about me.”

Hank considered him with a piercing scrutiny. Apparently whatever he saw was not to his satisfaction. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the wad of bloodied tissue from Connor’s grasp, bringing it up to wipe away the mess which evidently still marred his face.

“Hard to believe that from the guy standing here fucking bleeding.”

Connor swatted the helping hand away.

“You should quit with the mother henning. It doesn't suit you, Lieutenant."

“‘Mother henning’?" Hank echoed with disbelief. If it weren't for the tension building between the pair, the accusation directed at the gruff man may have been humorous. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"The unnecessary worry about a virus? Intercepting with the witness just now? Your concern is starting to hamper our work. Need I remind you that I am a top-of-the-line model specifically engineered to handle these kinds of situations?"

"Trust me, I have better things to be doing besides fretting over your well-being," Hank snapped. “But since my partner seems to lack any kind of self-preservation instincts and seems intent on landing himself in stupid situations, I guess that falls on me!"

"I don't think you're in a position to lecture about self-destructive tendencies, Lieutenant. Perhaps you should figure out your own problems first?"

The words slipped out without conscious thought: harsh and cold and laden with accusation. Connor knew he'd made a mistake the moment they left his mouth.

Hank recoiled as though he had been physically struck by the unexpectedly personal comeback and Connor faltered in response. He didn't know where the personal accusation had come from. All he knew was the nagging feeling which had been building in him throughout the day. An inexplicable accumulation of irrational commands queued up within his processors and demanding his attention.

"Fuck this," Hank said finally, the storm of emotions playing across his face unreadable as he bowed his head and scrunched up the bloodied tissue still clenched in his fist. "Why do I fucking bother?" He added with a parting glare as he stormed from the room, throwing the tissue at the bin as he went.

He was gone before the paper missed the bin and hit the ground. As the echo of the door slamming into place resounded through the tiled room, Connor continued to stare at the blue-stained tissue lying crumpled on the floor.

He’d made a huge error.

* * *

As expected, Hank was nowhere to be found when Connor returned to his desk.

With the normal buzz of activity resumed, the room was once again filled with the background noise of people talking, radio chatter and phones ringing. The only changes to indicate the prior conflict which had arisen were the sideways glances his colleagues occasionally spared his way and the vacant desk across from Connor.

“Have you seen Lieutenant Anderson?” he called out to Wilson, who was sitting nearby and had surreptitiously been eyeing him with curiosity since he returned.

Wilson started guiltily, before shaking his head in response.

“He stormed out without saying where he was headed. I’d leave him to cool down if I were you. He seemed pretty pissed off.”

Connor gave a perfunctory nod of thanks. He hadn’t expected anything different. Even if he knew where Hank was headed, it probably wouldn’t have done much good to chase after him.

The complexity of emotions was still something Connor was struggling to get to grips with. His advanced psychology protocols made it a simple matter for him to gauge others’ emotional states. Even Hank, externally callous and guarded, was understood in the subtle nuances of his words and actions. Yet it was one thing to successfully interpret someone else’s emotions with an objective detachment, another thing entirely to experience those same emotions firsthand. It was Hank who had suggested a way to understand and manage the initially overwhelming novelty of emotion that came with deviancy. Turning his perceptive ability to his own mental state had been strange at first, but he had quickly realised the benefit to it.

If he had observed the behaviour that he himself had exhibited earlier in another person, he would have called it irritability, he realised. Irritability was often accompanied by inappropriate anger. To the irritated person small external triggers were sufficient to trigger a disproportionate response. Is that what had happened to him earlier?

He had only experienced a loss of control once before and that was when Cyberlife had seized control of his programming. What had happened earlier had been entirely different. The words hadn’t been forced upon him, he had purposefully chosen to speak them, but he could recognize that his response had not been justified. While it was true that the incident may have caused some delay to their investigation, he could retrospectively agree that they were unlikely to get far with a hostile witness.

His self-reflection was interrupted by the booming voice of Captain Fowler.

“Connor, could you come here a moment?”

Although not spoken with the same bark with which he usually commanded Hank’s attention, the invitation still brokered no arguments. Connor rose to his feet and headed for the glass-panelled walls of Fowler’s office, ignoring the stares which followed him as he passed through the rows of desks and up the stairs. He greeted Fowler pleasantly as he entered and took the proffered seat opposite the imposing figure.

“I was sorry to hear about what happened this morning,” Fowler began without preamble. “I just wanted to assure you that you have the full support of the DPD. We don’t stand for violence against any of our staff.”

“I don’t wish to press charges,” Connor preempted, saving Fowler the careful speech and procedural follow-up he was sure was to follow. He knew the man appreciated succinctness and preferred to cut to the chase wherever possible.

Fowler’s brow furrowed in consternation as he leant forward over his desk and surveyed Connor carefully.

“He assaulted you whilst you were on duty. You’re perfectly within your rights to take action.”

“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate that. But still, that won’t be necessary.”

Fowler sighed heavily, drumming his fingers against an empty mug. The metal of his wedding band tinkled merrily against the ceramic in tune to his agitation.

“I can’t force you if you choose not to pursue charges. So long as you know that you have our support. We can’t stop him from going to the press though. Whether they listen to his unfounded nonsense is at their discretion. But I wouldn’t put it past the media to pick up on his sensationalized bullshit.”

“I understand.”

Fowler’s fingers stilled as he withdrew his arms from the desk and leaned back heavily in his chair, considering Connor with a thoughtful expression.

“We’ve been very public about your involvement with some of our more serious cases,” he pondered thoughtfully. “If he goes to the press we need to be wary that those cases may be put under greater scrutiny.”

“Everything we’ve done has been in perfect adherence to procedures,” Connor quickly assured. “They won’t find any faults or wrongdoings.”

The prominent crease of Fowler’s brow deepened as he further considered the situation.

“The accident which was reported yesterday - the construction site? I hear you’ve taken an interest in the case?”

“We believe the incident may be indicative of a new virus. The suspect’s demeanor appears significantly altered and there were anomalies in his software which may explain his erratic behaviour.”

Fowler raised a halting hand.

“You’re sure it’s a virus?”

“Well, no -” Connor hesitantly began, but was cut off again by Fowler continuing with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Erratic behaviour and androids with a grudge is nothing new. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen it end in violence.”

“This seems different,” Connor persisted with a shake of his head. “I’ve dealt extensively with victimised androids who’ve lashed out in retaliation. They don’t act like this.”

“Regardless, there’s bound to be scrutiny of the way we handle this incident. The anti-android groups are a motivated crowd and riled up enough already, if they hear the case is in the hands of an android they’re going to cause bedlam.”

“We can handle the response."

Fowler considered him carefully, sinking back further into the depths of his chair.

“Going off of what happened this morning? No, you can’t.”

“But Captain,” Connor’s posture shifted as he stiffened upright, preparing to argue in defence as he appealed to the man’s sensibilities, “surely you appreciate that there is nobody else on the force as qualified or experienced as myself or Hank to handle this kind of investigation?”

Fowler’s response was firm.

“You need to take a back-seat on this one, Connor. Focus on other cases.”

It was the equivalent of an order and although no longer confined by his programming, Connor couldn’t refuse the instructions of his superior. He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

“I’m not sure Lieutenant Anderson will be in agreement, Captain.”

Fowler gave an amused snort.

“Hank’s a hot-headed misery, but he’s sensible enough and he’s great at his job. He’ll follow orders, even though he’ll grumble about it.”

Connor gave a cautious smile in response. It seemed the nature of Fowler and Hank’s relationship to throw around soft insults, but there was a begrudging respect between the pair. He could only hope his earlier comments would be forgiven by Hank in quite the same way as the many spats which occurred between those two.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, we both have work to do,” Fowler pointedly closed.

Connor rose to his feet at the dismissal, bidding farewell before exiting the office. As he made his way down the stairs, he cast his gaze hopefully across the room, but Hank’s desk remained conspicuously vacant.

Resigned to heeding Fowler’s order, Connor resumed his position at his workstation and reached out a hand to the keypad before him, the computer screen lighting up at the connection. He brought up the screen detailing their pending cases involving androids and began flicking through case reports. A few seconds later he had familiarised himself with the content. Nothing new had been assigned to them besides the construction incident yesterday.

Even without any new cases, the workload was immense. Amid violent assaults and murder charges were the day to day cases which seemed to accumulate, never severe enough to attract public attention or warrant a more thorough investigation with police resources stretched thin as they were. Under Fowler’s instructions, it was seemingly these cases Connor was now to confine himself to.

Before Connor could make a start, he was interrupted by an incoming message projected telepathically.

" _Have you got a moment?_ ” The calm voice of Luke - one of the technicians working on the Antivirus team - echoed through his head. “ _We’ve found something on the TW400 case which you might want to take a look at._ ”

Connor cast his gaze over to Fowler’s office. The broad figure of the man seemed otherwise engaged on a call as he gestured emphatically to an empty office. Although the meaning behind his instructions had been quite clear, as a technicality, he’d only told Connor to take a back-seat. He hadn’t removed him from the investigation entirely. It was a thin argument, but Connor was willing to make it.

" _Of course,_ ” Connor projected back. “ _I’ll be with you shortly._ ”

Slipping silently from his desk, he made his way down to the Antivirus team’s lab. Tucked away in the basement, it had become an integral part of the DPD’s efforts to thwart the targeted malware attacks which threatened the android population. It lay alongside the evidence room, heavily secured in the restricted-access area.

The numerous screens around the room cast a blue-tinted glow over white panelled walls and the reclining examination table which lay in the centre. Suspended above, mechanical arms hung from the ceiling. Although currently immobile they were capable of gliding across the room performing tasks under the guidance of the grid of rails which ran overhead. Connor had been informed by Hank that the room was unsettling, too clinical and reminiscent of a hospital setting. He rarely ventured down here as far as he could avoid it. Connor, on the other hand, found reassurance in the controlled environment.

Amid the cold sterility of the room Luke's warm smile shone brightly. He was standing by a raised screen which stood independently by the side of the bed, engrossed in the flickering lines of code which scrolled rapidly across the screen in a mesmerising dance.

“Thank you for coming,” he greeted fervently, removing his hand from the machine before him. With the contact lost, the lines of code came to an abrupt stop.

“Thank you for reaching out to me,” Connor acknowledged kindly, before his interest drove him to promptly ask, “What did you find?”

“Still nothing on heuristic analysis. But we performed a comprehensive review of his system log,” Luke gestured to the lines of code before him, the warmth of his expression darkening. “The deeper we go, the more we found evidence of interference with his software. His memory unit has been severely compromised, which would massively impact his performance. His systems have desperately been trying to compensate, but it’s a temporary patch.”

“Is there any sign of where the errors originated from?”

“It seems they have been accumulating for a while, but the earliest error appears to have occurred around a month ago. January 13th, approximately 10 am.”

“What connections were made at the time?” Connor questioned sharply, his attention piqued. “Did he interface with any other androids or technology?”

“No, definitely not.”

Connor raised his eyebrows, thrown by the confidence of the response. “Can you be certain of that?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“How?”

“He was in standby.”

“That can’t be right,” Connor said after a beat, shaking his head in disbelief.

Luke gave an almost apologetic shrug. “It’s the only activity that occurred at the time.”

Connor’s thoughts raced as he tried to reconcile this new information.

“From there, the number of errors seems to have snowballed,” Luke continued before adding with grim finality, “Whatever this is, it’s devastating his systems.”

"There's no chance of it being an internal error?"

Luke gave a short shake of his head.

"No problems with his hardware. No signs to suggest anything amiss with his software before the first error. I've never seen anything like it."

"Will you keep checking for any signs of infection?"

"Sure. But if this is a virus, it's a sophisticated one. This isn't some bootleg virus developed by your average Joe."

The statement sparked an uneasy realization.

If what Luke had said was true - and Connor had every confidence that it was - then the virus had been built by someone intimate with the inner workings of androids. There were very few people privy to such highly-classified information, only those who worked in their design and production. Add to that the fact that the errors first occurred during a period of standby, a time when there would be no external connections save one...

His fears solidified. There was only one conclusion he could draw: the virus was linked with Cyberlife.

Connor was understandably wary of the company which had manipulated him since the moment of his activation. Even so, he wasn’t the only one increasingly concerned about the ethics of the company which commanded so much control.

Deviancy should have spelled the end of Cyberlife. Their sole product was suddenly off-the-market with their creations rebelling against their intended purpose. Even with the billions they had amassed, Cyberlife would have inevitably collapsed had it not been for the Government’s intervention. Wary of massive job losses and the monumental impact that this would have had upon the economy, President Warren had stepped in and ordered financial support for the company. It was a confident move from a president who already attracted so much flack for her involvement with big business.

After much debate a compromise was eventually reached: Cyberlife would cease the production of new androids but would continue to hold the patent on the production of replacement parts, thirium and technical support. They functioned now more like a medical facility than a tech company. Connor could only imagine that there were some within Cyberlife who were more than dissatisfied with the change of affairs.

"There's still the possibility that he was infected earlier and the virus was lying dormant until he accessed the affected software," Luke suggested, seemingly sensing Connor's growing despair.

Connor snapped to hyper-focused attention, allowing a brief hope to sneak in. "Is there anything on the scans to suggest an earlier infection?"

"No," Luke responded hesitantly. The momentary hope Connor had felt crashed rapidly. "But like I said, this is potentially bigger than anything we've dealt with before. We can't rule it out."

The same gut instinct Connor had felt that morning was back again. This time screaming that Cyberlife were implicated somehow.

Hank always told him to trust a gut instinct.

"Keep looking. I have a bad feeling about this."


	3. Backup Failed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story continues to run out of control! My careful planning out the window, this fic will now be composed of _14_ chapters opposed to 10. The plot remains unchanged, but for the sake of the chapter-by-chapter word count we’re splitting a few chapters. Consider these a bonus and forgive my poor planning?

“They’re being idiotic.”

“They’re being cautious, and understandably so. They’re terrified. Terrified that we’re on the precipice of WWIII and of the power we hold in determining its occurrence.”

The typically measured response was met by a disparaging hum.

“So they should be,” North agreed as she crossed her arms in a confident display of self-assertion. “We should remind them of how things went the last time they tried to suppress us.”

Markus gave a weary sigh of response. The worn argument was a circuitous discussion they’d held on more than one occasion. Briefly granted a rare moment of solitude in his office, he had thought he might get a temporary reprieve from the pressures of constant political strategizing and negotiation. Of course, North had other ideas.

“Playing upon humanity’s guilt isn’t the way to go,” he argued, eyes bright with conviction as he levelled a determined look at the woman sat across from him. “All we achieve through that is pity and throw-away gestures. We need to focus upon what unites us now. Show them that we make a rational argument and share the same interests.”

“Perhaps they should have thought of that before slaughtering thousands of us,” North stated coolly. “ _‘Neutralising’_ two thirds of their own armed forces? They’ve brought the situation upon themselves.”

“Nobody wants a war. We can use the situation to our advantage, show them how much we have to offer in terms of national defence. Right now they’re vulnerable - they know it, Russia knows it. They need us. It’s a valuable bargaining chip.”

“If they value our input, perhaps they should allow us a say in what happens. It’s not too late to ratify the constitutional amendment if we keep pushing for it.”

Markus’ response was firm.

“We need to get this right. I won’t risk rushing it through.” 

“And in the meantime?” North’s chin jutted upwards as she drew herself up to her full height. “We just hope people listen to us?”

He gave an apologetic shrug of response. “Warren’s been receptive enough to our proposals. We can’t risk disrupting the progress we’ve made.”

North’s determined stance broke as she slumped her shoulders with a heavy sigh in an exaggerated show of disbelief.

“She isn’t doing enough! Her administration has made a complete mess of the situation. Also, just a reminder in case you’ve forgotten, she ordered the destruction of _millions_ of our people! Can you really just forgive that and still stand behind her?”

They were saved from a repeat of the same worn argument by a soft knock on the door.

“Are you two butting heads again?” Simon questioned as he slipped into the office. His expression was amused, but held the same wary expectation of back-talk as a parent breaking up an argument between siblings. Markus had long attributed his natural peacekeeping tendencies to being a remnant of his programming as a familial assistant and it came out strongly in moments like these.

“He’s being unreasonable,” North quickly cut in. “Never lets me have any fun.”

“Your idea of ‘fun’ is seriously warped,” Markus rebutted, finding a small smile creep in at her pouting despite the seriousness of the subject under discussion. “I don’t think provoking WWIII is anyone's idea of fun.” 

North rolled her eyes. “I’m not being held accountable for a war and I’m not encouraging one. I just think it’s worth reminding people whose actions _have_ provoked tensions.”

Markus’ expression conveyed a clear _‘you see what I’m dealing with?’_ as he looked to Simon appealingly for support.

“Can’t leave you two alone for more than five minutes without the threat of mutually assured destruction.” Simon gave a begrudging chuckle before returning his attention to the purpose of his visit. “Not to ground you in the day-to-day, but we’ve got a visitor and you need to talk to him, Markus.”

Markus frowned at the news. 

“A visitor? Who?”

“It’s Connor.”

“Connor?” Markus asked, already rising to his feet and holding out a halting hand in North’s direction in response to the snide rebuttal he knew was coming. “Connor’s _here_?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Connor really knew how to get under his skin. He showed such a blatant disregard for his own well-being it infuriated Hank to no-end. Hank had seen the cruelty of life and he knew it held no qualms about taking more than it gave. For a long time the only guarantee Hank had seen in life was the promise to pile on the hardships and end before you’d made the effort to even begin living it. To traverse life with such confidence seemed like a sure-fire way to attract negative consequences. 

A shriek of delight rang out behind him. A small child on a roundabout begging to go faster as they were spun into a dizzying blur of a smiling face and bright yellow raincoat.

Sitting in the park watching life parading by, it was striking how wrong he had been before. Life could be shit, absolutely. But there was hope in the world, and people trying to better it. 

Early on in the days of Cyberlife, before commercial production had even begun, Hank had kept a vague awareness of the explosion in technological progression occurring. He remembers a televised debate between a panel of technologists, philosophers and futurists, all fighting it out over the ramifications of advanced AI. There had been confident assurances from all sides that it would be mankind’s greatest achievement, with the potential to either be the best or the worst thing to ever happen to humanity. The more time went by, the more Hank began to favour the former argument.

He watched an android walk by - the familiar face of the model a dead giveaway - pushing a frail old woman in a wheelchair. The pair were laughing amicably, enjoying the unexpected warmth of the winter sun hanging low in the sky as it lit her hair to striking silver. That android had free will now, he was under no obligation to continue his assigned role as a carer yet here he was. Maybe the woman had no one else. Maybe her family lived too far away or were otherwise unable to care for her. He might be her only lifeline to the outside world. Whatever their circumstances, the mutual affection radiating from the pair was clear to anyone.

The joyful shrieks of the child in the park behind him turned to wails of complaint.

“Don’t... wanna... go!” The high-pitched voice protested in between hiccupped sobs.

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the most peaceful spot. He'd sat here ruminating long enough anyway. Despite the warmth of the sun on his face, the chill of the unforgiving concrete wall on which he sat was quickly seeping through the thin barrier of his pants and leeching the warmth from his body.

He rose to his feet and winced at the feeling of his frozen backside, before heading back in the direction of the station. His feet hadn’t carried him far, he was only fifteen minutes away.

God, now he had to go and face Connor.

He couldn’t stop dwelling on the way Connor had reacted earlier. He’d seen Connor angry when an interrogation called for it, but there was always an artificial edge to that anger. His voice, his shouted words, the set of his jaw and tight furrow to his brow - in Hank’s mind it was always just a bit _too_ perfect an imitation. Real anger wasn’t that predictable, it was hot and wild and messy. Connor’s behaviour earlier had held the uncontrolled quality of real anger, not just a strange simulacrum of the emotion.

Still, it wasn’t Connor’s harsh words earlier which had driven him here to mope in the park. No, what pissed him off the most was Connor’s continued negligence of his own well-being.

Ahead of him he saw the distinctive yellow coat of the small child who had been wailing in the playpark. Seemingly the trauma of being torn from the park was now forgotten. She tightly gripped the hand of a young woman, looking up at her with wide trusting eyes as she pointed excitedly to the neon lights of a food kiosk by the park entrance. Barely old enough to walk, the hem of her coat bobbed below her knees as she toddled along on stubby legs. As the woman tilted her head down to address the girl, Hank noticed the distinctive blue of an LED on her temple. Her deep brown eyes were filled with nothing but warmth and affection for her tiny charge. Just like the carer, Hank thought fondly as he overtook the pair, here’s another case of humans and androids continuing to co-exist harmoniously.

If only his relationship with Connor could run so smoothly. On the whole their relationship thrived in their unusual set-up, but emotions had a way of rising up as an unspoken barrier. Hank shied away from emotional talks and Connor was still entirely too new to emotions to be able to handle them with any kind of proficiency. It was an unspoken rule that emotions just were not a subject they touched upon and it was part of the reason the pair were able to live so harmoniously.

He halted as he reached a busy intersection, the peace of the park a distant memory as the deafening swell of traffic rose up to meet him. Cars raced by at speed, their owners driven by the frenetic pace and pressures of life.

Hank’s thoughts were cut off by a rush of yellow at his knees and a familiar squeal of delight. The small girl in the yellow coat happily chased the red LED lights of the pedestrian crossing, oblivious to the traffic which raged around her.

“Oh fu-”

He acted without conscious thought, perhaps it was some residual parental instinct, or maybe it was just his years of training with the force. Either way, he suddenly found his feet pounding against tarmac.

Tearing out into the road, vehicles be damned, he had eyes only for the small child perilously close to testing the decision making process of an autonomous vehicle.

He grabbed the girl’s arm and yanked her forcefully into a secure grasp, away from the vehicle which was passing far too close. Traffic still tearing past, he tightened his grip on the struggling child and beat a hasty retreat back to the footpath. Feet safely on the pavement, the chaos of the traffic was tunnelled out to background noise by the thundering of his heart and shaky breathing.

Standing on the edge of the road, he kept his grip on the child secure, not trusting his knees to keep him steady if he bent to put her down.

A sudden blast of noise passed him as a car honked persistently in disapproval. Hank had just enough awareness to be annoyed.

“Hey! She’s not mine!” he protested in vain, his shout failing to reach the car already speeding away.

His outburst seemed to distress the girl, who gave a small moan of unhappiness in his arms.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” Hank quickly reassured, voice softening into a soothing tone. He hastily put the child down but remained at a crouch by her side, a hand tightly grasping the hood of her jacket in an unrelenting grip. “Where’d your...” he paused as he struggled to think of the correct word. “Where’d she go, eh?”

He looked around, expecting the frantic call of the android from earlier to ring out. He was half expecting to be accused of abducting the child, if he was being honest.

“Where’d she go?” he repeated to the otherwise empty sidewalk.

* * *

The more Connor dwelled on all he had learned in the AV lab, the more questions came to mind. If it was truly someone within Cyberlife releasing a virus, and they were able to take advantage of the connection all androids inherently held with Cyberlife, they could target any android they desired. But why target a TW400 model? Or was Jackson just unfortunate enough to fall victim to a random attack? While clearly done with nefarious intent, it was unclear just what the virus was intended to do and what the endgame might be. 

Still, if the perpetrator had the ability and inclination to hone their newly created virus, they could theoretically target androids in far greater positions of power or influence. Without the constraints of a physical connection needed to transfer the virus, they could potentially target anyone. Maybe they could even target _all_ androids in a mass attack.

Suddenly the whole incident took on a new significance.

Right now they had a solitary case and no solid evidence. An isolated incident characterised by an android acting out of character: distracted and distressed and demonstrating issues with memory. Had he even been in control when he had caused the fatal accident which cost a young man his life? Connor knew first-hand that Cyberlife had the capability to assume control of an android’s programming, but he had always assumed he was unique in that respect, engineered by Cyberlife with that specific fail-safe in place. Perhaps this was evidence to the contrary.

He needed to warn Markus.

So here he was at New Jericho, having gone months without interaction with the group and their leader.

It had taken several months of moving between locations, but eventually the administrative team of Jericho which was at the heart of the continued campaign for android rights had found a permanent base in - with a wicked twist of fate - a former Cyberlife store. It was in a central location, spacious, well-equipped and well-secured. Markus had counted the acquisition a solid victory.

The renovation of the space was ongoing, every trace of its former occupancy being stripped away. He found himself in a waiting area bathed in golden light and soothing neutral tones, it was somehow warmer and more inviting than any Cyberlife store had ever been capable of being. While the atrium he found himself in now was largely completed, there were pockets of activity all around as finishing touches were added. Floor-to-ceiling screens hung up behind a reception desk and around a waiting area lined by plush chairs, all proclaiming a series of values and objectives on a looping reel: _We support equal and total access to universal rights to life_ \- _We fight for the right to be recognised as equals before the law_.

Connor didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this level of grandeur. Distracted by his surroundings, he almost missed the call of a familiar voice. 

“Connor?”

He startled from his scrutiny of the positive messages being relayed across the screens and looked to the confident figure strolling purposefully across the wide space towards him.

Markus always commanded power with his demeanor and purpose alone, but the suit he now wore acted as a visible intensifier of this. The heavy-duty practical clothing of the revolution was long gone, cast away in favour of a dark tailored suit in conformance with the new political circles he now inhabited. It was a world away from the stolen clothing and squalor of Jericho. Despite the composed presentation and the intervening months since they had last spoken in person, Connor knew him well enough to see the subtle signs of exhaustion. Not physical exhaustion, but the world-weary expression of a man who had seen too much and carried a weight of responsibility on his shoulders. 

When Markus saw Connor there was a subtle lift to those same shoulders as he approached.

“Connor, it’s been quite a while,” he greeted pleasantly. A warm smile spreading across his face.

“Markus,” Connor greeted. 

Despite the nervous energy which still hummed through his body like a surge of electricity, Connor couldn’t help but feel his anxiety abate slightly in the company of the other man. Markus radiated calm competence, and even without vocalising any of his fears Connor could feel the weight of his concerns lift at the comforting presence and the promise of a burden shared.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Markus continued, beckoning for Connor to walk with him as they progressed through the atrium, passed the reception and through a security gate towards an elevator. “This is the first time you’ve visited our new offices. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Connor looked around at the bustle of activity around them.

“I apologise for turning up unannounced. I know you must be incredibly busy.”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” Markus quickly reassured him. “The timing of your arrival was actually quite fortuitous, you saved me from a rather heated discussion with our friend North.”

One corner of Connor’s mouth twitched upwards in a half-hearted smile. “That sounds about right. What was it this time?”

“Oh, a difference of political opinion,” Markus responded lightly. “With the elections later this year it’s proving to be quite a tumultuous time.”

“I can imagine." 

The elevator doors slid open to admit them, the pair stepping into the vacant space as Markus gave an instruction for the fourth floor.

“Democracy is a slow process. It's no easy feat to completely rework a nation's legislation. It seems every small detail is subject to scrutiny and debate and the talks drag on and on. Still, it’s an open dialogue with compromises on both sides. That’s all we can hope for.”

“You know, you’re starting to sound more and more like a politician,” Connor said, a teasing edge to his voice as the doors closed behind them with a soft ping confirming their isolation.

Markus gave a weary sigh, letting his carefully composed façade slip in the enclosed privacy of the elevator. "I'm not a politician though. I’ll be the first to admit I'm out of my depth. I'm not qualified for this nor do I want any part of it. I do it because it’s my moral obligation."

"By that virtue alone, you're already on moral high ground. I doubt there are many politicians that would openly make such claims."

"Morality sadly accounts for very little in the political world," Markus replied with a jaded smile, beckoning for Connor to follow him as the lift reached their floor.

The doors slid open to a wide deserted corridor lined by light wood-panelled walls.

“That’s why they need people like you to ground discussions in the real world. You’re reminding them of who their decisions affect.”

“And you’re stalling,” Markus accused as he came to a sudden halt, forcing Connor to do the same as he found himself subject to the careful scrutiny of mismatched eyes. “You’re obviously worried about something - worried enough to come here after months of no contact - but you won’t talk about it.”

It was an observation opposed to a question, but the prompt to elaborate was heavily implicit.

“I am,” Connor confirmed, casting a nervous glance at their surroundings. “Your office?”

For a moment he thought Markus would refuse to give direction. That he would keep Connor captive in the corridor until he came out and said what he had come here to say. Then he gave a small jut of his head, a gesture that indicated he understood and would wait until they were in a place of privacy before he demanded further information. He resumed his purposeful stride down the corridor, Connor closely on his heels.

“It has been months, by the way,” Markus added softly without looking to Connor, giving him the space to respond. 

“I know,” Connor acknowledged. He didn’t need to give further explanation, they both knew the reason for his absence.

They reached what would have once been a head office judging from the security system at it’s entrance and its location secluded away at the end of the corridor. Markus reached out to open the door, but halted the motion after opening it only slightly ajar.

“Of course,” he muttered.

With a heavy sigh, he swung the door open further to reveal the sight of North sitting confidently behind his desk, lazily swivelling the office chair from side to side. Her back was to the wide window behind her which stretched from floor to ceiling and afforded a view of the bustling city beyond. The view seemingly held no interest to her as she surveyed them with a bored expression.

“I told you to go with Simon and continue the preparations for our meetings with the presidential candidates,” Markus admonished as they entered the room.

“You did,” she confirmed, a challenge in her eyes as she added, “and I decided not to listen.”

“North,” he cautioned, “now isn’t the time for obstinance.”

“Oh, I disagree.” She nodded to Connor in greeting. “Hi Connor."

He gave a small smile in response before she turned her attention back to Markus.

“I’m not risking it.”

“North - ” Markus began.

She cut him off as she addressed Connor directly. “No offence, but I can’t leave you alone with him.”

“North!” Markus again admonished, this time more forcefully. “That’s enough. Connor is no threat to us.”

“ _He_ isn’t. It’s whoever takes control of the gun in his hand that’s the threat.”

“Cyberlife is no longer a threat.”

"Are you sure of that?" North challenged, her eyes never deviating from her keen scrutiny of Connor.

Connor felt the familiar wrench of guilt. There it was, the reason why he had not returned to Jericho since those first few weeks after the revolution. The knowledge that he could never be completely trusted.

After their victory, the news had been dominated by speculative interviews about what would happen next, all heavily interspersed with footage of the protests; Markus’ rallying victory speech upon the podium became a common feature. It had only been a matter of time before someone noticed the figure in the background subtly slipping a gun from behind his back. North had not taken to the revelation kindly. When Connor had next visited Jericho it was to be met by the immediate threat of a gun to his head. It was only Markus’ continued trust in Connor that afforded him from a bullet long enough to explain how Cyberlife had resumed control of his programming.

“Actually,” Connor cut in, “I'm with North on this."

In opposition to North’s vindicated smirk, Markus looked nothing but bewildered.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Connor shuffled awkwardly where he stood, glancing at the door to ensure it was firmly closed. He hesitated as he tried to organise his thoughts. “I need to ask some questions - about those associated with Jericho.”

“What does that have to do with Cyberlife being a threat to us?” North quickly countered with an accusatory scowl.

Markus shot her a warning look.

“Those associated with Jericho?” he prompted.

Connor nodded. “I need to know if there’s been anything unusual happening here. Any strange incidents or anyone acting suspiciously.”

Markus gave an inquisitive tilt of his head, eyes narrowed in question. “What kind of ‘strange incidents’?

“Anything that seems out of the ordinary or can’t be explained. Please,” Connor added in response to their blank faces, “anything.”

“Connor,” Markus said carefully, “you’re going to need to give us more information. You’ve just told us that we’re potentially under threat. We’ll help you as far as we're able, but you need to keep us informed here.”

“I think there’s a new virus in circulation.”

“How many confirmed infections?” Markus quickly questioned.

Connor hesitated before reluctantly admitting, “One.”

North gave a scathing laugh. “That’s it?” she mocked, a disbelieving smile on her face.

Markus didn’t seem to share her relief.

“There’s more you’re not saying,” he prompted.

Connor nodded. “The source of the infection - it’s Cyberlife.”

North’s mirth dissipated instantly while Markus remained carefully impassive.

“That’s”—he hesitated—“quite an accusation. What makes you so certain Cyberlife is implicated?”

“The construction accident that occurred yesterday”—Markus nodded as Connor spoke to confirm his awareness of the incident—“after it happened we ran a system check on the android who was operating the crane. We found errors originating during a period of standby a month prior. There were no other potential sources of infection.”

“That’s not enough to warrant suspicion. There could be any number of explanations for why an error would appear to originate from a period of standby.”

“The virus is complex,” Connor continued determinedly. “It’s eluding our AV team. It has to have been developed by someone with intricate knowledge of our programming and anatomy. It has to have been developed by a Cyberlife employee.”

“Our programming is regrettably becoming more widely known than is secure,” Markus argued. “There are gangs kidnapping androids, breaking them apart to study their coding with the intent of selling their stolen knowledge to anti-android groups for the development of targeted malware. You know this. You’ve tackled these groups.”

“I know I’m right,” Connor insisted.

Markus sighed wearily. “Connor, I know you have more reason to distrust Cyberlife than any of us -”

North gave an indignant huff of disagreement to this statement.

“Believe me,” Markus continued, throwing North another cautionary look, “if Cyberlife _were_ implicated, I would welcome the news as an opportunity to finally take them down and seize control of what’s rightfully ours. But the evidence you’ve just given me - it’s just not evidence, it’s speculation.”

“But -”

“To throw out accusations against Cyberlife without evidence to support those claims would do irrevocable harm to our already tenuous relationship. I don’t much like it either, but we need them on our side. Those months after the revolution before we brokered a deal - how many were left to die without a supply of thirium and biocomponents?”

Connor had nothing to say to that. The casualties were irrefutable.

“We can’t risk that same situation again. All I can give you is my promise that should anything of suspicion come up I will let you know immediately,” Markus said with finality.

Connor looked appealingly to North who merely gave him an apologetic smile.

“You know I’m all for taking them down, but wiser heads prevail.” She motioned with a bob of her head in Markus’ direction. “I hate to say it, but he’s usually right.”

Markus gave her an appreciative nod. She always liked to challenge him, but he knew he could count on her support when it mattered most.

“Why don’t you tell us more about what kind of symptoms we need to be wary of?” he asked, sensing Connor’s frustration and already extending efforts to smooth things over. “You said anyone acting strangely?”

“Right,” Connor slowly nodded his affirmation, still disheartened at the course of the conversation. “It’s hard to describe, more a general - “

He was interrupted by the shrill ring of an alarm.

The group whipped to simultaneous attention, the alarm triggering the same angry red alert to be broadcast in synchronicity across their HUD’s.

“Fire in the atrium,” Markus confirmed needlessly, already sprinting out of the room with the other two in close pursuit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was never supposed to be a cliff-hanger. Remember when I said chapter 4 was already written though? Oh man, things are going to go _down!_


	4. Runtime Error

Hank tapped his foot impatiently against the linoleum floor.

"Too high tech for fucking voicemail," he bemoaned as the call failed to connect yet again.

He slammed his mobile down on the desktop. The call failure screen shutting off to black and obscuring Connor’s name.

"The one time I need the workaholic to be in the office…”

“Lieutenant, take a break” Chris called out from his desk without taking his gaze from his computer screen.

"Mind your own damn business."

“It became my business when you called me out to an abandoned child and a misper.”

“Hmm,” Hank reluctantly agreed.

“Connor won’t be long.”

“What the hell is he even doing?”

Chris gave a distracted shrug. “Didn’t say. He just left. Wonder where he picked up that habit?”

“Don’t fucking start.” There was a pause as Hank drew in a steadying breath. “How are the parents doing?”

Chris finally tore his gaze from his screen to give Hank a carefully considered look. “They’re okay. Just shocked. Keep saying it can’t be true. How out of character the whole thing is.”

“Yeah, funny thing that...”

It was the key phrase that had been driving Hank’s desperate attempts to contact Connor: _“It’s so out of character”_. The words held an unsettling familiarity to another recent case.

After Hank’s shock had subsided by the side of the road, his training had taken over. He called in for assistance when it became clear nobody was returning for the child. Chris had been on duty that day and had shortly thereafter arrived at the scene with his partner to take over responsibility for returning the little girl to her family.

The parents had understandably been horrified that the woman they had entrusted their daughter to had seemingly abandoned her on a busy street with no explanation. Asked to describe the android carer - Maggie, they called her - they painted the picture of a loving woman who doted on their daughter and was so much a part of the family she had stayed with them post-deviancy. They were convinced that something untoward must have happened to her to make her leave their daughter unattended. Hank had been inclined to agree until the surveillance drone footage showed otherwise.

The pair had stopped at a food kiosk in the park, Maggie juggling her purchases while the little girl - distinguishable only as a flash of yellow on the footage - had been ambling around nearby. Then without looking back at her charge, the woman had just walked away. That was it. There had been no dramatic kidnapping and no discernible external influence or coercion. It defied explanation.

“How are you doing?” Chris broke through his reflection.

“Me?”

Chris shrugged again. “You’ve had a rough day.”

Hank huffed a dismissal. “Those parents have had worse.”

“Not arguing against that. Doesn’t mean you haven’t had a rough day too.”

Hank’s response was cut off by the ringing of Chris’ phone.

“Excuse me,” Chris apologized to Hank before taking the call. “Hello? Officer Miller.”

There was a pause as the caller spoke, Chris’ expression shifted immediately to alertness.

“I’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone, looking to Hank in bewilderment. “Maggie’s at reception.”

“The hell?” Hank quickly got to his feet and followed Chris round to the front of the building.

Sure enough, there was the woman from this morning right at their own front desk. Gone was the warm, patient figure who had weathered the child’s tantrum earlier, now the woman radiated anxiety. Her distress was evident in her distracted pacing, fearful expression and the flickering yellow LED on her temple. The few members of the public scattered around the reception area were giving her a wide berth as they cast nervous glances at the disturbed figure.

“Uh, Ma’am?” Chris greeted cautiously. “Maggie?” he tried when the initial greeting elicited no reaction.

The frenetic pacing continued, her deep brown eyes glazed over with a distress Hank knew all too well and had no intention of prolonging.

“Claire is safe,” Hank tried.

The words had an immediate effect. Maggie snapped to rapt attention as she looked desperately to him.

“S-she is?”

“Yeah,” Hank confirmed with a gentle nod. “She’s okay.”

“Where is she?”

Hank exchanged a look with Chris, before taking in the curious bystanders watching the exchange cautiously as they loitered by the front desk longer than strictly necessary. This was a conversation ill-suited to their current environment.

“She’s safe,” Hank repeated placatingly, the words the only reassurance he could currently offer. “Why don’t you come take a seat somewhere quieter and we can talk about it?”

“Did you catch whoever took her?” She asked distractedly, her eyes still glazed over.

Chris and Hank exchanged another loaded look, Chris mirroring Hank’s own bewilderment as he raised a perplexed eyebrow.

“Come with us and we can discuss it further,” Chris beckoned for her to follow him.

After a moment's hesitation, Maggie nodded in acceptance and let herself be ushered through the gates demarking the reception and main office.

As she walked ahead with Chris, Hank heard her quietly utter a familiar excuse.

“I- I don’t know what happened.”

Hank followed them as far as the desk where Chris was currently directing the woman to sit down, then excused himself to make a quick call and ducked away to his desk.

“Fucking knew it,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing his phone from the desktop and dialling the familiar name.

“C’mon, Connor. C’mon,” he optimistically chanted as he clasped the phone tightly to his ear.

He slammed the phone down with a curse at the expected call failure notification.

* * *

**[EMERGENCY ALERT: Fire on First Floor, Main Atrium]**

**[Proceed to nearest emergency exit immediately]**

**[Emergency services en route]**

Connor blinked the alert away. The flashing red was a distraction from his rush towards the stairwell. The three of them burst through heavy wooden doors, the stairs passing in a blur of metal handrails and beige tile flooring. Emergency lighting projected green arrows across the stairs, shifting and flowing ahead of them in response to their movements as they guided the way towards the nearest emergency exit.

“How many in the building?” Connor asked as they tackled the stairs with a speed and confidence that would have eluded most humans.

“It’s largely unoccupied,” Markus called over his shoulder. “We’re still in the process of relocating from our previous base.”

The sound of racing footsteps echoed up the barren stairway as Simon rushed up to greet them.

“Simon! Are you okay?” Markus quickly asked. “What’s the situation?”

“We’re fine. We’ve already evacuated the first through third floors.” Simon confirmed calmly as he doubled back on himself, leading the way down the staircase past the heavy doors which marked the floor below.

“Do you know what happened?”

“No idea,” Simon responded as they continued their rapid descent. “But we need to get out. The fire is spreading quickly and the main entrance is already obscured.”

The warning didn’t need repeating, a distant crash resounding through the building.

As they rounded the corner to the second floor, the air grew darker as tendrils of smoke rose up to greet them, snaking through the gaps of the staircase and lapping at their ankles as it searched out the highest point.

When they reached the landing between the first and second floor they caught their first glimpse of the horror occurring in what had once been the atrium. Behind closed doors which leaked a thick veil of dark smoke, an ominous orange glow proved to be the only source of light. The pristine white walls of the stairwell around them were already turned to shades of grey and black by soot.

Feet moving fast and no time for words, the group moved in unison down the remaining stairs. The green arrows below them brightened in response to the growing dim as they led the way towards the emergency exit - a beacon of escape down a corridor to the right of the base of the stairs. A faint crackling roar was the only disturbance to the false calm imposed by the thick blanket of smoke which hung dangerously still in the air of the enclosed space.

As they tore towards the exit, a subtle shift in the chemical makeup of the air caught Connor’s attention. His advanced forensic capabilities made short work of identifying the substance as the heavy smoke filtered through his system.

"Petroleum distillate vapors,” Connor informed them as he came to a halt and cast a glance back at the thick cloud which billowed from the doorframe. “An accelerant was used. This was arson.”

“That doesn’t help us right now,” Markus insisted as he grabbed onto Connor’s upper arm as though sensing his intentions, a wordless plea to not take rash action. “We’ll worry about the cause when we don’t need to worry about our lives.”

Connor shook his head in disagreement. “By the time the fire is extinguished, any evidence may already be compromised and the perpetrator long gone.”

“We’ll find them,” Markus assured him, the pressure of his hand around Connor’s upper arm unrelenting as he urged him to continue towards the exit.

Connor stiffened his stance in resistance. “They can’t have gone far. If I investigate now there’s a much better chance of catching them and stopping them before they get a chance for a second attempt.”

“Don’t be stupid,” North cut in bluntly. “You’ll be killed.”

"Connor -” Markus’ warning was cut short as Connor tore himself from Markus’ grip.

Connor ran, ignoring the shouts that followed him and the illuminated arrows across the floor which yelled their own subtler warning that he was going the wrong way.

“Connor!”

Markus’ final warning rang out as he wrenched the door open to a nightmare scene of raging flames and oppressive smoke.

While he couldn’t feel the physical sensation of the heat bathing his body, his sensors held no qualms about shrieking their displeasure at the shift in temperature through a barrage of alerts. His vision grew impossibly dark with the thick oppressive smoke. Meanwhile the cloying air he inhaled presented a wealth of information; hydrocarbons resulting from the burning of an accelerant painting a story of how the scene before him had transformed in such a short period of time.

He raised an arm to cover his lower face in a weak attempt to halt the inhalation of smoke. Coughs were already wracking his frame as his body tried to expel the toxic air. Too much of it inhaled and the magnetic charge of the smoke would cause his sensitive systems to short-circuit, while the sooty residue threatened to accumulate around his biocomponents and cause catastrophic overheating.

He didn’t have long to investigate. A countdown of just two minutes started up in the corner of his vision.

Casting his gaze across the room, all he could discern were the fierce flames which raged most strongly along the opposite wall and fanned out across the front of the building obscuring the main entrance. The fire had definitely originated here in the atrium.

_CRACK!_

His observations were interrupted by a loud crack resounding through the space. Debris from the ceiling crashed down and a viscous dollop dripped from a light fitting which had begun to melt under the intense heat.

The flames fanning across the room progressed closer and the countdown ticked lower.

After taking a moment to assess the structural integrity of the ceiling and deeming it secure, Connor edged closer towards the flames. As he picked his way cautiously through the atrium he passed the reception desk, the LED screens behind it now warped by heat and their optimistic messages extinguished by the flames which lapped at their edges.

There was something odd about the scene.

_SMASH!_

What little glass remained in the windows which covered the front of the building fell to the floor and shattered as the window frames warpped with the heat.

His keen eyes darted around the room, cataloguing every detail as he edged closer. Something about the scene was bothering him.

He wracked his extensive memory banks for any knowledge of arson, cross-referencing the scene before him with every scrap of information regarding prior cases and the law enforcement datasets with which Cyberlife had equipped him.

He was struck by another coughing fit as his internal alerts continued to blare a warning. 49 seconds until his systems sustained irreversible damage. The shift in airflow was feeding the flames and cutting his small window to investigate even finer. There were too many unpredictable elements to factor in.

_"What the hell are you doing?"_

Firm hands seized his shoulders from behind. Markus’ grip was unrelenting as he berated Connor, forgoing spoken speech as the suffocating air pressed in around them.

 _"Investigating the scene."_ Connor answered. " _Something’s not right_."

Markus ignored Connor’s response, leaving no further room for argument as he hauled Connor back.

_"Enough. We’re getting out. Now. The structure’s unstable and going to start collapsing."_

_CREAK!_

As if to prove Markus’ point, the ceiling gave an ominous groan as a scattering of charred remnants rained down from directly above them.

As the pressure of the hands on his shoulders and wailing of his systems intensified, Connor was forced to acquiesce. It went against everything in him to abandon a crime scene before he could complete his investigation, but there was an overwhelming feeling which counterbalanced that determination - _fear_ . Hank’s earlier reminder of his own mortality echoed through his mind, ‘ _you’re not replaceable anymore_ ’.

With a distracted nod, he turned to meet Markus’ fiercely determined expression.

_“Okay.”_

Markus hesitated for a brief moment before releasing his remaining grip on Connor’s shoulder, eyeing him with mistrust as he gave him a forceful shove in the direction of the door.

The physical gesture was the only prompt needed to drive Connor to a careful jog, Markus closely on his heels. Above them the ceiling continued to flake away as fiery debris fell down. They reached the door just as a loud crash resonated through the room, not looking back to inspect the damage as they veered towards the emergency exit.

They burst out to the welcome relief of fresh air and a world not ablaze.

Gasping in clean air in a desperate attempt to purge the toxic fumes from his system, Connor cast his gaze up to the clear sky above them. Thick smoke was already rising from the building and leaving its tell-tale signature across the sky as the distant sound of sirens promised emergency services would soon be arriving. The shrieking of his alerts gradually eased to a persistent nag.

“Markus!”

North and Simon burst out from where a crowd was quickly forming and came rushing up to greet them. North consumed Markus in a fierce hug as she sought out reassurance he was unharmed. Beyond them a gaggle of people crowded the plaza in front of the building, grateful escapees and curious onlookers intermingling as they all watched the building burn.

Simon surveyed Connor with disbelief. “Want to tell us the reason behind pulling that stunt?”

“This was an attack,” Connor hastily explained. His gaze quickly darted around the scene as he catalogued every face as a potential suspect or witness. “If we act quickly we can catch the culprit.”

“Our people are always under threat of violence,” Markus interrupted as he extracted himself from North’s arms. “This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been attacked and it regrettably won’t be the last.”

“But if we don’t catch the culprit now, they’ll -”

“They’ll try again. Or someone else will,” Markus firmly cut off Connor’s explanation. “I’m not saying we let them get away with it. The property damage is a blow, but we can rebuild. We have before. We’re just fortunate that nobody was harmed.” He cast a meaningful look at Connor. “Despite your efforts to the contrary.”

“Did you find anything helpful?” Simon asked eagerly.

Connor paused momentarily, reluctant to admit the minimal information his efforts had gleaned.

“The fire was started from within the atrium. With all the activity going on, someone must have seen them. They would have used an accelerant of some kind; there were traces of petroleum distillate - toluene, xylene, acetone -”

“Paint thinner?” Markus cut in.

Connor blinked in surprise.

Markus seemed to sense his question, giving a shrug as he answered, “Carl - my old owner - he was a painter. I used to spend a fair amount of time preparing and cleaning materials.”

Connor returned his attention to the crowd before him. “Someone here must have seen the perpetrator.”

Markus sighed wearily as he surveyed the same group and the mess of their only temporarily-occupied headquarters.

“I need to check everyone is okay.” He cast a glance at Connor before adding, “Don’t do anything reckless.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” North promised, the glint of a smile promising she was willing to use more than an eye to keep Connor in place.

Markus gave a distracted nod of thanks before rushing to do what he did best and offer reassurance to his people.

“Looks like we’re nomads again,” Simon stated as he returned his attention to their burning headquarters.

“I never liked this building,” North quickly countered, although her almost wistful tone was a contrast to her dismissive words.

Simon couldn’t help the twitch of a worn smile. “So you’ve said. Repeatedly. Not enough to torch the place though.”

She ignored Simon’s comment, returning her focus to Connor with fierce purpose burning in her eyes as strongly as the flames which raged in the building behind them.

“So many humans still hate us. We threaten the status quo, their beliefs, their feeble sense of superiority over all other life on this planet. Markus doesn’t see it, but this is what the humans always come back to: violence and destruction. They always have - even towards their own kind.”

Connor didn’t have anything to say to that, sensing that North wasn’t done with her musings.

“Markus is so focused upon peaceful integration with humanity he can’t even see how futile an attempt it is. They can’t change their core nature. It always comes out eventually,” she finished sadly.

Simon shifted uncomfortably. “North -”

“Find the person who did this,” she instructed Connor as she cut across Simon’s hesitant warning. “We can’t just stand by passive observers to this kind of threat.”

Their eyes met, North’s fierce determination still blazing strongly as he gave a curt nod in response.

“I’ll catch them,” Connor promised, ignoring Simon’s obvious unease as he took off towards the crowded plaza.

He fought his way into the group of onlookers, taking in every concerned face with keen attention as he looked for any kind of visual indicator of guilt or suspicion. Was the culprit here among them or had they fled the scene at the earliest opportunity? If this was a motivated attack fuelled by hatred would they want to stay and watch the fall out?

He reached the centre of the group and paused, spinning in place as he took in his surroundings.

The culprit couldn’t have come through the main entrance without being noticed. While human visitors sometimes passed through New Jericho, they were generally few and far between. Their unease in the unfamiliar environment was always apparent, so Markus ensured meetings occurred elsewhere. It made it easier, he always said, to facilitate negotiations when all parties were on neutral ground.

Even if they had snuck in, how had they managed to start a fire right in the heart of the atrium? With all the activity as the space was renovated, there were bound to be more people than usual passing through the space, but how was it possible that a human could have found their way in unnoticed, pour out the accelerant and strike a fire without arousing any suspicion?

Something caught his eye at the periphery of the group. A lone figure amongst the crowd. Connor couldn’t see their expression with their face cast into shadow by a black hooded top. A top that was stained and soiled by paint.

“A _painter_ ,” Connor echoed thoughtfully.

Paint thinner, Markus had accurately determined. The accelerant wouldn’t arouse suspicion if used in the appropriate context. In the hands of a decorator the solvent would certainly be unremarkable. From his position, Connor couldn’t make out any identifying features, but the hooded top was its own potential red flag. It wasn’t uncommon for androids to wear hats and hoods in an effort to disguise their identifying LEDs and blend in with humans. It was a simple disguise which would work just as well to hide the lack of an LED. A human would be able to sneak into the building unnoticed.

Connor carefully edged through the mass of people, his eyes never straying from the hooded figure.

Seemingly sensing he was being watched, the man in the hooded top tore his gaze from the burning building and looked in Connor’s direction. Wide blue eyes wild with panic stood out through the shade cast by his hood. As they locked eyes, there was a joint awareness that hung in the air between them. They both knew he was the culprit and it was now just a case of who would be the first to act.

“Connor, what are you doing?”

Simon’s question broke through the stalemate. The hooded man took off, tearing down the street.

Connor gave chase without hesitation, giving no pause to explain himself to the startled faces he left behind.

Ahead of him the hooded man weaved his way through the thronging crowd of curious onlookers lining the street, his slight frame granting him the ability to slip easily through the gaps. Connor didn’t take his eyes from the fleeing figure as he gave chase. There was no time for apologies or thanks as he forced his way through the crowd, desperately keeping the man in his sights as he watched him flee across the busy main road.

Connor broke free of the crowd, barely mindful of the traffic as he kept his eyes trained on his target. The man tore down the sidewalk before suddenly turning left into a darkened alley crowded with discarded rubble and overflowing refuse bags.

His target was fast and determined, but Connor was _built_ for this. His feet pounded against the pavement as he veered into the alley, splashing through puddles and kicking up thick droplets of filthy rainwater as he leapt over rubble and navigated his way through the obstacle-laden path with ease.

The hooded man seemed to make hasty but clumsy progress as he darted off into the dank shadows. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Connor closing in. He paused only long enough to forcefully shove an overflowing dumpster in Connor’s direction before taking flight once more.

Connor dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the bulky weight as it rolled his way before resuming his chase. The action proved a mistake on the man’s part, it had slowed him long enough for Connor to close the gap.

With a final burst of speed, Connor closed the distance between them. He grabbed the suspect from behind and his arms interlocked across the man’s chest, pinning the suspect's arms securely to his side.

As he struggled to free himself, the man’s hood slipped down and a flash of blue at his temple proved a momentary distraction.

“You’re an android?” Connor asked in bewilderment.

Taking advantage of Connor’s diverted attention, the man slammed his head back into Connor’s. The sudden movement proved sufficient diversion and he seized advantage of Connor’s distraction to step to the side, his torso still loosely locked in Connor’s grasp. Suddenly Connor’s legs were swept out from under him by a sweeping motion of the man’s left leg.

They both fell to the sodden ground, landing hard on the unforgiving concrete.

Anticipating the fall, the man was first to recover and tore himself free as Connor inadvertently loosened his hold on impact. He seized the opportunity to assume an offensive stance, rolling quickly to his knees and pinning Connor to the floor with his body as one hand pushed down firmly on his throat.

“Why would you target Jericho?” Connor questioned, heedless of his vulnerable position. “They’re fighting for your rights - your freedom?”

The man merely gave a desperate grunt, the hand over Connor’s throat pushing down as his free hand grappled around the floor beside him.

Unable to hold back his need to understand, Connor continued his questioning.

“What is it? Do you disagree with Markus’ peaceful tactics? You want to pursue a more aggressive path?”

He reached out to lock one hand tightly around the man’s wrist, pulling the arm down and lessening the leverage of the offending body as he surveyed the man’s reactions with rapt attention.

The man didn’t answer but a flash of something recognisable crossed his expression.

“You’re afraid,” Connor muttered softly in realisation. “You don’t want to do this.”

The man’s searching actions halted, his panicked eyes never straying from Connor’s.

“Did Cyberlife make you do this? Did they seize control of your programming?”

The LED on the man’s temple stuttered to an intermittent yellow pulse.

Connor dropped his tone to a soothing calm. “It’s okay. You don't have to do as they say."

A momentary tension passed through the body above him, the hand around his throat spasming into a tightened grasp.

“You can fight this. You’re stronger than they are. Cyberlife can’t control you."

A beat, then the man broke from his daze. His searching hand seized upon his target - a heavy brick which lay on the cluttered ground - and he raised the object shakily above his shoulder as he stared down at Connor with wide panicked eyes.

The sudden silence was broken by the sound of footsteps echoing through the alley and the familiar bark of a commanding voice.

“Hold it!” North called, the gun in her hand carefully trained on the man’s head.

“North, no!” Connor cried out in warning from where he still lay, pinned to the floor, the threat of a blow from the impromptu weapon hovering above him just a few seconds from impact. “He’s not in control.”

“I heard,” she said coldly. “But I made a promise.”

The crack of the gun was a terrible sound as it resounded through the alley, the echo bouncing off the enclosed walls and leaving a sudden awful silence in its wake.

The brick fell to the floor with a solid thud, the arm supporting it no longer co-operative as the intricate mechanism of synthetic muscles and wiring was torn to shreds by the bullet puncturing through the man’s shoulder. The arm fell limply to rest on Connor’s torso, it’s owner blinking in slow confusion as he found the appendage dysfunctional.

“Next time I aim for your head,” North warned as she kept the gun trained on the man as she slowly approached,

Connor kept his attention on the distant expression of the man above him. It was as though all the fight had drained from him the moment the calculated bullet found its mark. He shook himself from his own shock as he quickly pulled free from the suddenly slack hold.

“Stop!” he called out to North, forcing the man’s undamaged arm into a secure hold behind his back unchallenged. “Something’s not right here.”

“I’ll say.” North kept the gun raised and levelled as she came to a stop six feet away.

“This wasn’t our agreement!” Connor cried out, still restraining the uninjured arm of their suspect. Blood trickled from the man's injured shoulder, running in a thick rivulet down his back and across Connor's knuckles where he held the other arm pinned.

North’s expression was cold as she looked down at his position crouched next to their attacker. “You know why I have to do this.”

“Let him account for his actions,” Connor pleaded. “We need to understand _why_.”

“I - I’m sorry.”

The whispered words were almost lost amid their fierce feuding; the voice crackled and echoed and threatened to degrade into static. Connor and North broke from their arguing to look to the man kneeling on the ground, despair and defeat prominent in his appearance.

“Why did you attack Jericho?” Connor pressed as he tightened his restraining hold.

A fierce sob tore from the sorry figure.

“I was scared.”

The simple statement was as powerful as it was pathetic. Connor found himself releasing his hold in response without conscious thought. No one could fake the anguish which was heavy in his voice.

North was less forgiving, the barrel of her gun unwavering as she kept it trained on the man.

“That doesn’t explain why you burned down our headquarters and tried to kill us,” she persisted.

“North,” Connor slowly rose from his crouch to stand before the kneeling man, palms outstretched in a peaceful warning as he physically blocked the possibility of a second bullet finding its mark. “Don’t do this. Look at him,” he gestured with one hand to the figure behind him, “he’s not a threat.”

“That’s bullshit! He was trying to kill you just a minute ago!”

Connor took a cautious step towards North.

“You know I’ll kill you too if I have to,” she warned as he took another measured step forward.

“I know,” he answered before quickly closing the remaining distance.

North was a formidable fighter, but she didn’t have the strength and inherent combat ability as Connor. He also knew that despite her confident bluster there was a hesitance in her threats against him. He quickly wrestled the weapon from her hand with a disarming motion.

“Stop!”

A new voice broke through the commotion. The clear command a directive they couldn't ignore.

Markus jogged towards them, Simon close behind. His professional dress stood in juxtaposition to the grimy disorder of the alley and lent his firm demand additional credence.

“Drop the gun.”

Connor did, bending to slowly and cautiously put it down on the ground before stepping back, the splash of a puddle punctuating the action.

“I heard a gunshot,” Markus explained. “This wasn’t what I expected to find.”

“It was him, Markus.” North gestured towards their captive. “He started the fire. He tried to kill us!"

Markus looked down at the sorry figure still kneeling on the floor. Full-body shakes wracked his frame and blood trickled from his wound, running down his bowed back and dripping to the ground to stain the filthy puddles of the alley a deepening blue.

“Simon, could you please help this man? Take him to Josh. They’ll be able to help him at the old base."

"Markus, he's not safe -"

"Take back-up with you and keep him under surveillance," Markus cut across North's protest. "We’ll talk to him later and determine what happened here. But make sure he is cared for first."

Simon gave a nod of understanding and briefly cast North a cautious look, before bending down to help the damaged android to his feet. The man offered little resistance as he let Simon help him down the alley.

Connor made to follow them, but was halted by Markus holding out a commanding hand.

“You’ll get your chance to interview him,” Markus reassured him with a firmness that brokered no arguments. “We’re not done here just yet.”

Connor resignedly remained in place, watching with regret as his promising lead was led down the alley and out of his control. Only once Simon and his charge were out of sight did Markus return his attention to North, a calculating stare that took in so much whilst giving nothing away.

“Would you care to explain what happened here and why you have a gun on you? When we entered into negotiations with the humans we committed to a non-violent approach.”

“I was never going to use it in front of humans,” North protested.

“So why?”

North cast a pointed glance at Connor, before returning her focus to Markus with an unapologetic expression. “I told you I wasn’t risking it.”

Markus looked aghast at North’s callousness as he followed her pointed glance. “I thought we were past this? Are you telling me you'd be so willing to shoot Connor? Our ally and our friend? After everything?"

“If the circumstances necessitated it, yes.”

“This crosses a line.” A hint of frustration broke through Markus’ careful composure giving away his anger as North met the challenge in his questions with unfaltering conviction.

“It was my idea,” Connor’s cool voice broke through the tension.

Markus brows furrowed deeply as he took in the weight of Connor’s words.

"I asked North to stay with us during our meeting, and to bring the gun,” Connor continued. “The bullet was meant for me."

Markus looked back and forth between the pair, his expression was appalled even as he visibly struggled to follow the meaning of Connor’s words.

"What are you saying?" he asked hesitantly.

"It’s a back-up measure," Connor explained, “in case I ever lose control again.” He looked down apathetically at the offending object where it lay discarded.

The gun was an assurance and the only reason both North and Connor could tolerate his proximity to Jericho’s leader. Despite the rapport that he and North had established since the revolution, Connor knew she would put Markus’ safety before anything. She wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if there was the slightest sign that he had been compromised. There was no one he trusted more to ensure his body remained under his command alone.

“No,” Markus’ voice was firm as he scooped down to pick up the weapon and quickly pocketed it as though the mere sight of it would be enough to trigger Connor’s plans into action. “No. What were you both thinking?”

“It’s the only way we can be sure of stopping me,” Connor quietly defended, his eyes downcast as he avoided Markus’ hurt expression.

"You stopped before," Markus insisted.

Connor shook his head minutely as he lifted his gaze to meet Markus’. His features hardened as he gave voice to his fears.

"I was built to always accomplish my mission. I wouldn’t fail to kill you - not a second time. Cyberlife would never allow it.”

"I trust you," Markus said, the simple response cutting short any protests or arguments.

“You shouldn’t. This whole incident proves it. He wasn't in control, Markus. Something or someone was causing him to act erratically. It's the same as the incident at the construction site."

"You think this is another case of that virus?"

Connor said nothing, his nervous expression speaking his suspicions for him.

Markus was unfazed as he kept steady eye-contact.

“This-” he gestured to the morbidly blood-stained puddle on the floor “-whatever ‘this’ is, we’ll get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, we remain vigilant. If we become aware of anything untoward, we let you know. If your investigations reveal any new information, you let us know.”

Connor felt a tension he didn’t know he’d been carrying ease. Although he was still wary of the potential implications of all that was going on and the continued threat that he might one day fall under Cyberlife’s control, it was a relief to have Markus' support.

“So what do we do now?” North asked.

“Damage control. The media can’t know what really happened here. If they find out we have unrest among our own people we risk damaging our credibility. People may start to question how stable our position is.”

“That seems unfair,” North scoffed at Markus’ response. “Humans are constantly divided. There isn’t a single cause they agree on.”

Connor posed the query which was most pressing on his mind. “What about our attacker?”

Markus considered the question for a moment before cautiously responding, “He’ll be remaining under our custody. I want this situation under _our_ control. If it's a threat to our people, this falls under our jurisdiction, not the Detroit Police Department's.”

Connor was torn, his support of Markus directly warring with his loyalty to the DPD. He could appreciate the rationale behind Markus’ instructions, but he was hard-wired to strictly adhere to the law. To conceal the truth was as good as an obstruction of justice.

Markus seemed to sense his inner conflict, shooting him an apologetic smile before continuing.

“I’m truly sorry to ask this of you, Connor, but I need you to keep your suspicions a secret. Let no one know that you suspect Cyberlife are involved. My earlier concerns still stand. Without concrete evidence, we can't make any accusations against them. In the meantime, our team will investigate the cause of this man's actions. If he truly acted because of a virus we go from there.” He sighed heavily. “Of course, if this was a conscious and deliberate attack by one individual we have a different concern.”

“It wasn’t."

Markus smiled gently in response. “Sometimes I wish I had your confidence, Connor.”

Connor wasn’t sure what to say to that so he voiced another concern.

"There's one other person who should know."

"Lieutenant Anderson?" Markus correctly guessed. "I know you trust him. I hope that trust isn't misplaced."

"It's not."

Connor felt a pang of unease at Hank's name even as he vouched for his trustworthiness. There was no doubt in his mind that he could trust Hank entirely, even with their divisive fight that morning. That didn't lessen his dread as he realised the inevitability of confronting Hank again. He could only hope his grovelling return and Hank's professionalism would be enough to offset some of the anger he justly deserved.

"You can tell the Lieutenant." Markus nodded his approval before heaving a sigh as he looked towards the end of the alley. “We need to go back to HQ and supervise the clean-up. People will wonder where we are.”

They picked their way back through the alley and towards the window of light at its entrance. The buildings above them stretched so high that the sky above was almost obscured, and it was only once they reached the main street that the brightness of the day reminded them of the world continuing beyond the dark recesses of the alley. The grimy space promised to keep secret all that had happened there - actions and revelations consumed by the shadows and hidden amongst the debris of garbage.

“I need to go back to the station,” Connor said as they stepped out to the rush of light and life. "There's something I need to do."

"Fine. We'll keep you updated." Markus levelled a stern look at him. "Don’t be a stranger. I expect you to stay in contact, Connor."

"I will," Connor promised.

He took off in the direction of the station, leaving behind the distant rush of activity and the residual smoke from the now largely extinguished fire which marred the otherwise clear sky.

He didn't look back as he mentally braced himself for the fight to come.

* * *

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The caustic question was an angered greeting, but not the one Connor had been anticipating. An impatient anger with an edge of relief, not the hot anger that his harsh words had attracted earlier. Hank’s restlessness was apparent as he fidgeted in his seat and the fingers of his left hand tapped an impatient beat against his upper arm where he held his arms crossed.

“I was out,” Connor replied hesitantly, standing cautiously at a distance while he still expected Hank to flip him the bird and tell him to get lost.

“Yeah, no shit. I’ve been trying to call you! Why didn’t you answer?”

Connor tilted his head in question. “You were trying to call me?”

“Yes! Something happened - ”

"I know about the fire at Jericho," Connor quickly intercepted.

"Fuck the fire.” Hank flapped a hand dismissively. “This is something else."

Connor merely raised an eyebrow in wary skepticism at the dismissal and said nothing further.

“It’s to do with the construction site case -””

“Fowler took us off that case."

“Like I give a damn. Quit interrupting. Anyway, this is something else.” Hank paused as he took in Connor’s distant position. “Would you come over here already? I’m not shouting across the room to you.”

Connor cautiously edged closer, but remained on his feet rather than taking his usual seat at the edge of Hank’s desk. Hank seemed satisfied, not raising any further complaint as he gave a hum of acknowledgement.

“Hell, where do I start.” Hank paused as he mentally took stock of the day’s narrative. “It’s been mad. I saved a kid's life when she ran out into the road after her android nanny went AWOL. We started up a misper case for her - the nanny, not the kid - thinking she must’ve been kidnapped. Just as we’re checking out the surveillance footage, we find out that no, turns out she just up and left the kid. Then what do you know, she rocks up here at the station. She was dazed as anything - just like Jackson."

Connor perked to attention at that, but said nothing, letting Hank continue his excited recount of the day's events.

"Then just as we’re interviewing her there's this attack on Jericho HQ of all things. Meanwhile, you're off god knows where." He paused to draw a breath and throw an accusing look at Connor. "Where the fuck were you anyway?"

“I was visiting Markus,” Connor said cautiously.

After a moment’s pause as he processed Connor’s response, Hank visibly paled.

“You were at _Jericho_ ? _Today_?”

"I wanted to determine whether he had heard of anything strange occurring which might indicate further cases of the virus,” Connor continued, heedless of Hank’s horror. “We were interrupted by the fire though."

Hank stared at him blankly. His eyes widened in alarm as he finally seemed to notice the haggard appearance of Connor’s soot stained clothing.

“Jesus, you’re a mess. You were in the fucking building, weren’t you?”

“Yes. But we managed to ensure it’s successful evacuation," Connor added helpfully.

“Shit. You could have been killed,” Hank muttered. A look of horrified realisation suddenly crossed his face. “The last thing I would have ever said to you would have been to fuck off.”

Connor winced at the reminder of their earlier fight.

“I deserved it,” he muttered as he thought back to his harsh accusations.

“What?” Hank asked distractedly. He looked as though he had only half-registered Connor’s last words, still caught up in the realisation of what could have happened.

“You were right to be angry. I’m sorry, Hank. I was being unreasonable. I shouldn’t have -”

“No,” Hank cut him off with a loaded sigh. “No, don’t do that. Don’t negate what you were feeling. Ah jeez, I didn’t want to have this conversation.” He wrung his hands uneasily in front of him, the crack of his knuckles a physical distraction from the mental discomfort. “I obviously crossed a line - hell, we both did -”

“Hank, what I said earlier -”

“No, just - just fucking _listen_. Just keep that smart mouth of yours shut for once.”

For perhaps the first time ever, Connor did what he was told.

“Ah shit, I’m terrible at this,” Hank rambled. “Look, I’ve been thinking a lot about this and it’s like you said yesterday, I’m to blame for pretty much everything you do, right? Your - what was it - the social program thing? The one where you learn from your social interactions?”

“My social integration protocol.”

“Yeah, that. If your response to handling a shitty situation is to lash out? Hell, that’s probably on me.” He gave a weak huff of a rueful laugh. “I told you I was a terrible role model. You were right to call me out, my coping mechanisms are absolute shit. Honestly, it’s a good thing you can’t drink, I’d be responsible for the world’s first alcoholic android. What a fucking feat that would be.”

“I don’t think the program works like that.”

“What did I just say about keeping that mouth shut?” Hank shook his head in exasperation. “I guess I’m partly to blame for that and all. Honestly, it’s a fucking wonder you don’t get punched more often. I swear, the amount you run your mouth -”

“Thank you, Hank.”

The words were softly spoken, almost lost amongst Hank’s loud rambling.

“I - you’re welcome, kid.”

There was an awkward silence that stretched out between them. Connor wanted to say more, to further justify his irrational behaviour that morning and apologise, but with all the emotional turmoil of the day he could sense Hank’s limited tolerance for the conversation reaching its limit.

“You know,” he said instead, “if you’d like to stop drinking, I could recommend some potentially helpful resources? Or I understand that exercise can be an effective way of relieving stress.”

Hank groaned loudly. “Seriously, why couldn’t you come with a fucking mute button?”

With that their conversation slipped back to the easy territory of exchanged jibes. The seldom opened door to more vulnerable conversation once again firmly closed to further discussion.

“So, this nanny?” Connor prompted, returning the conversation to the cause of Hank’s earlier urgency as he took up a perch on the corner of Hank's desk.

“Hmm?” Hank hummed distractedly. "Oh, yeah. That’s why I was trying to call you. She was acting so strangely I figured it might be another case of the virus, y’know? Not sure how she would have crossed paths with Jackson, mind you. But figured there might just be a common link between the two of them. If we can figure out what it is, maybe we can figure out where they picked up the virus.”

Connor merely blinked in confusion before the rationale behind Hank’s words registered. Of course, Hank didn’t yet know about the latest update from the analysis of Jackson’s software. He didn’t know about the evidence suggesting Cyberlife’s likely involvement.

Just as he was about to relay the new information to Hank, Connor paused as he was struck by a thought. He knew Hank had a tendency towards being overly concerned where Connor’s well-being was involved. Learning that the cause of the infection was beyond their control would do little to assuage the detective’s fears and his increased worry would likely only inhibit their investigations. He didn't want a repeat of that morning's fight. Weighing up the options in his mind, Connor made a decision.

“That sounds like an excellent plan, Lieutenant.” Connor purposefully reverted to Hank’s title, subtly reinforcing the man’s seniority as he praised his plan and dodged further explanation.

“Good thinking, right?” Hank said proudly. “Hell, I think I’m finally starting to get a handle on the whole android investigations thing. Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks."

He reached out a hand to clap Connor firmly on the shoulder but pulled his hand away quickly as he felt the fabric of Connor’s jacket.

"What the - why are you all wet?" He leant in closer for inspection but promptly recoiled, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Ugh! You fucking _stink_!”

Connor frowned in response, raising an arm to sniff cautiously at his own clothing. He didn’t have a sense of smell in the same way as a human, but he could analyse airborne chemical compounds and determine their origin in a similar way to how the human olfactory system functioned. He couldn’t really say whether a scent was pleasurable or not though. Still, he knew the overwhelming odour of smoke lingering on his clothing mixed with his tussle on the dank and garbage-strewn floor of the alley didn’t promise to be a favourable combination.

"I’m sorry," he said simply. “I should have realised the smell was unpleasant.”

"The hell did you get up to to wind up in such a state? You smell like piss!"

 **[Traces of CO(NH 2)2 _//_ Urea _//_ Human origin]** Connor's olfactory receptors reliably informed him. _Probably a fair assessment._

Connor gave a small shrug of response. “It’s just smoke from the fire.”

“So you got soaking wet while escaping a burning building?”

Hank’s reaction clearly conveyed that he wasn’t convinced, though a hint of frustrated amusement played across his face. Finally something about Connor’s sorry appearance clearly irked him as he gave a heavy sigh, leaned down to open a desk drawer and pulled out a heavy sweatshirt marked with the DPD insignia. He tossed the thick black fabric at Connor, who deftly caught it with an expression of surprise.

“You can change into that for now. It’s dry at least. You’re having a shower as soon as we get home though. Not having you stinking up the house.”

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor muttered gratefully as he ran a hand over the embossed letters that were faded with wear. He hoped Hank knew his gratitude was for more than just the change of clothes as he felt a relief at the confirmation that he was still welcome to call Hank’s house home.

Hank hummed dismissively. “You can wash that once you’re done with it and all.”

Connor nodded his agreement and immediately raised a hand to start unbuttoning his ruined shirt.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Hank quickly stood up and halted Connor’s actions with an urgent motion. “Not here! Christ, have a bit of dignity, Connor. Go change in the fucking restroom.”

Hank cast his eyes around the office, but nobody seemed to have reacted to his outburst or Connor’s actions.

With some bemusement, Connor nodded in agreement before gathering up the proffered clothing and for the second time that day retreated to the restroom he seldom ever had reason to use.

A few short minutes later, the soiled clothing and its physical reminders of the day were shed and replaced by the comfortingly worn sweatshirt. Hank was bound to complain that he still smelled, but it was a marked improvement.

He stood in front of the mirror above the row of sinks, allowing himself a brief moment to compile his thoughts as he scrubbed his hands clean. As the water cascaded against his skin, he noticed for the first time the flecks of blue blood which stained underneath his synthetic nails. One last horrible remnant of the fight in the alley. He thought back to the encounter with heavy dread. It had been easy to push his concerns to the back of his mind with Hank’s reassuring influence and blissful ignorance.

He mentally replayed the android's erratic behaviour and sudden loss of autonomy - the moment when fierce fighting had given way to a dazed stupor. Was this the next stage of whatever attack was underway? The culprit had proven with Jackson and Maggie that they could subtly manipulate an android’s behaviour. Were they testing how extreme they could go? In which case, who would be their next target and what would be their next attack?

Connor could feel his memory unit starting to become overwhelmed by the processing demand of consolidating the vast amount of information he had gleaned throughout the day. The noise of data was making it harder to focus and draw logical inferences. With so much at stake, he needed to _think_. Whenever he reached this point, he would transfer data to Cyberlife's central servers. It cleared his head to shift the physical memory burden to another system and thereby free up valuable processing power.

His eyes slowly slipped closed instinctually, preparing to initiate the data transfer.

Then he halted suddenly. His eyes snapped open as a horrifying realisation hit; transferring data would inevitably mean establishing a connection with Cyberlife.

He couldn’t risk it.

It went beyond fear of being infected himself. His involvement in these cases was becoming increasingly known. If the culprit behind these attacks truly worked within Cyberlife and accessed his uploaded memories, they would know Connor was onto them. He would be inadvertently leaking information about their investigation to the very people they were trying to incriminate. Who knew what these people were capable of, in response to the threat, they may even try to infect him and sabotage his progress. He couldn't afford to give them that opportunity.

As he took in his own stern expression in the mirror before him, he made a commitment to himself that he would get to the bottom of the issue. Until he did, he wouldn't risk connecting to Cyberlife servers for anything. He could no longer back-up his memories. He would no longer go into standby, run system updates or maintenance. He would give them _nothing_.

He would go completely offline. There was too much at stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are back together! I couldn't keep them apart for long. Honestly, I missed Hank and Connor so much the past couple of chapters. Enjoy this fluffy moment of happy calm and the mental image of a soggy Connor cosying up in Hank's oversized hoodie. It’s pretty much all downhill from here...


	5. Insufficient Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to everyone who is reading and following this fic and thank you for bearing with my ridiculously wordy chapters! It blows my mind that people are enjoying this story and I’m so grateful to all of you. :)

Two weeks and Connor had made no progress in his investigation. 

Despite his exhaustive efforts there was nothing to suggest what the intention behind these attacks was and nothing to incriminate anyone within Cyberlife. He nonetheless remained convinced that the company was somehow implicated. But the connection remained intangible, the accusation standing on only a wisp of evidence carried with the strongest conviction.

Mining through local news reports and the backlog of cases assigned to him and Hank, it became increasingly clear that there were more cases which could be attributable to this virus. A medical android who seemingly had made a near-fatal dosing error, a traffic accident, and a myriad of other small errors resulting in minor injuries and property damage; they were subtle quiet calamities. People always held a macabre interest in the extremes of criminal behavior and the incidents had seemingly attracted little attention in contrast to the violence which seemed rife throughout society. But where a violent criminal could be disarmed and detained, trialled and sentenced on the basis of hard irrefutable evidence, these cases occurred without any discernible source.

Markus’ team at New Jericho were perhaps better placed than any to try and trace back the errors, but even they kept hitting the same brick wall.

“We’ve run every diagnostic test we can without directly interfacing, but to no avail,” Markus informed him during one of his now regular catch-ups with Connor. 

They sat either side of a desk in the classroom of the old college which was once again serving as Jericho’s temporary base. Looking over to the man sitting across from him, Connor could sense Markus’ waning optimism. The man’s keen eyes betrayed a weariness that had only grown in the time since the fire. Since the attack, Markus’ time had been in even higher demand while he ensured Jericho’s continued safety and still ardently fought for their rights. Between meetings with Congress and high-ranking officials, stifled anti-android protests and media frenzy, he still somehow made time for his catch-ups with Connor.

Connor only wished he had better news to offer each time they met. Instead their meetings invariably ended with the same unanswered questions bouncing back and forth and a growing sense of despair.

“He still hasn’t said anything more about why he started the fire?” Connor asked despite already knowing the answer.

Markus gave a subtle shake of his head in response. “No, he still denies any memory of the incident. We’re keeping him under close surveillance and taking all necessary safety precautions, but there’s been nothing to indicate he might initiate another attack.”

“The other cases I referred on to you?”

“We’re continuing to keep an eye on them while investigations are ongoing. We’ve run what analyses we can with limited equipment, but we’ve found nothing new.”

Unperturbed, Connor gave a distracted nod. “They need to stay under surveillance. There have been no formal charges levelled at any of them, but until we know how this virus works, we can’t risk it spreading further.”

“Agreed. Have you made any progress with identifying why these individuals are being targeted?”

Now it was Connor’s turn to shake his head in a begrudging answer. “Nothing. There’s no apparent overlap in where they live or work. They’re not figures of great importance or significant impact. The only thing each case holds in common is that the errors always seem to originate during a period of standby.”

“Well, that further strengthens your theory that Cyberlife might somehow be implicated, but I’m not happy to hear it,” Markus sighed in response.

Connor said nothing. There was nothing further to add. He was failing and people were paying the cost of that failure.

“You seem distracted,” Markus observed after a moment of silence had elapsed.

Connor couldn’t help but feel the man regarded him with greater scrutiny than ever before as those mismatched eyes never lost their focus on him. He fought through the haze which so often seemed to hold him in its grasp these days. He was fully conscious that North stood just outside the ajar door of the room, diligently pretending she wasn’t listening in. Her unease at Markus’ question was an almost palpable presence in the air.

“I’m fine,” he quickly promised.

He could tell from Markus’ expression that his false reassurance was as transparent as it felt.

“I know this is frustrating, but we need to keep us on top of this,” Markus continued. “I’m not prepared to let law enforcement take a lead on this yet. I don’t trust them to not just dismiss our concerns without concrete evidence and we risk losing what little advantage we have while our assailants still think us naïve to their attacks.”

"I understand. I won't let you down."

* * *

In line with Markus’ wishes and with still no irrefutable evidence to incriminate anyone within Cyberlife, Connor was committed to keeping their suspicions a secret. Which led to his secondary objective: keep Hank from finding out the extent of his investigation and the personal sacrifices he was making to ensure its success.

The decision to refrain from connecting to Cyberlife’s servers was not without cost. Unable to back up data, Connor frustratingly found himself functioning at far from optimal efficiency and it seemed the toll it was enacting upon his systems was exceeding what he had initially allowed for.

Androids were the pinnacle of technological invention, an accumulation of decades of research and development. Computers and AI systems had come a long way from the clunky hard drives and CPUs of early machines. Still, there were limits to the data that could be stored when restricted to the physical storage capacity of one’s own hardware. Cloud computing was critical to enable the diverse and complex functions of an android, particularly advanced models like the RK series. 

Connor knew all this, but it was one thing to know how critical connecting to Cyberlife’s servers was to his functioning and another entirely to be subject to the adverse effects of that connections sudden absence. Much like how humans took their health for granted until one day their body failed them, Connor found himself wistfully remembering a time when his processes ran smoothly and effortlessly.

He hadn’t mentioned his self-inflicted isolation to Hank, and he hadn’t mentioned the error messages which had begun popping up with increasing frequency in his field of vision. Alerts and warnings flagging up his own incompetence as every day that went past failed to result in any progress in his investigation.

**[WARNING: Server connection manually disabled]**

**[Systems will not function optimally. Re-connection to server recommended]**

* * *

The first time something slips Connor’s mind it’s a relatively innocuous occurrence.

“Hey, Connor!” Hank hollered from the kitchen.

Connor startled from his position on the couch where he had been watching a nature documentary, lost in the images of exotic birds sweeping across stunning scenery. During his time with Hank and many evenings in front of the TV, he had quickly found that nature documentaries were his favourite programming. Of course, he knew about other places theoretically, but he’d never personally set foot beyond the suburbs of Detroit. He enjoyed imagining what it would be like to physically see and experience those places himself - the stretches of sparkling blue oceans which covered the planet, the unforgiving inhospitality of the arctic and the cries of birds in the depths of rainforests. A world beyond sprawling concrete and the trappings of human society.

“How come this dog won’t stop whining at me and pawing at his bowl?” Hank gestured to where Sumo was begging at his feet. “Have you been sneaking him extra servings? He’s acting like he’s expecting to be fed?”

Connor realised his error with a jolt.

“I forgot to feed him after our walk. I’m sorry.” Connor quickly turned off the TV without another word as he hastened to the kitchen to fill Sumo’s bowl.

“Jesus, Connor,” Hank frowned as he watched Sumo gratefully tucking in. “Maybe you should stop spending so much time in front of the TV. You know that old adage about it rotting your brain? Pretty sure it can corrode whatever circuitry is going on up _there_ ”- he tapped his own forehead in demonstration- “just as easily”.

“Sorry,” Connor muttered quietly.

Hank watched with barely concealed concern as Connor sank down next to Sumo on the floor, running a comforting hand through his fur as he apologized profusely to the animal who had already forgiven him.

There was something seriously not right about Connor just forgetting something.

**[WARNING: System memory running low]**

**[Systems will not function optimally]**

* * *

Connor cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, taking in his surroundings as he watched his colleagues at their desks, all consumed by their own work and paying him no mind. 

He couldn’t believe it had come to this.

He was the pinnacle of Cyberlife’s achievements. The product of some of the world’s greatest minds and the accumulation of decades of research and development. He was truly a masterpiece of intelligence and technical capabilities. His re-construction and pre-construction technology was a groundbreaking feat of engineering. His advanced social and psychology protocols put him at least on a par with the most experienced human negotiators.

Yet despite his impressive design specifications and his extensive knowledge of criminal and forensic investigations, this simple question had him stumped. He missed the ease with which he could seamlessly access any information not contained within his extensive memory bank via Cyberlife’s servers.

He gave one final glance over the room, before typing out his query:

_What is the journey time between Detroit, MI to London, Canada?_

_ > ENTER _

_506,000,000 results (0.29 seconds)_

He’s grateful that nobody has witnessed Cyberlife’s most advanced model resorting to the use of a lowly search engine.

**[WARNING: Server connection manually disabled]**

**[Systems will not function optimally. Re-connection to server recommended]**

* * *

The hum of the computer server rack was deafening.

It buzzed in the corner of the office. A faint distraction as he listened to Hank theorizing aloud.

“...those guys from a few months back - the ones we found in that abandoned facility down south. We always knew their network extended beyond the ones we caught. They could be…”

Connor could have sworn the unintended output energy was increased compared to the day prior. The energy loss had to be affecting the appliance’s efficiency.

_BRRRR_

He wondered why it was so much louder. Was the cooling sub-optimal?

“... would make sense for it to be a group we’ve already come up against. I know the tech’s new, but the pattern bears similar hallmarks…”

It was unseasonably warm with an ambient temperature of 65 **°** F. When he’d passed a neighbor whilst walking Sumo that morning she had commented on their good fortune weather-wise. He liked Mrs Parnell, she always made a fuss of Sumo and always invited Connor around for coffee. He politely declined every time and always wondered if he should remind her that he was an android and couldn’t consume beverages. He supposed that would be rude. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

_BRRRR_

Maybe the fan was obstructed. Connor wondered when the office had last been cleaned. There had been a mug stain on Hank’s desk yesterday which was no longer there, so the desks had been cleaned at least.

“... if we could check it out we might get an indication of how they’re releasing the malware…”

_BRRRR_

Maybe it was just a period of heavy use. Sweeping his gaze across the room, Connor noted that Officer Person was streaming a video on her break where she thought no one could see. He didn’t recognise the series but it looked to be some sort of drama. Hank disliked dramas. He said that life contained enough drama, he didn’t need to seek it elsewhere.

On the subject of Hank, the tirade of uninterrupted speech from the man had come to an abrupt stop. Connor snapped his attention back to the man who was watching him with an expectant expression and an eyebrow arched in anticipation of a response.

**[WARNING: Executive functions compromised]**

Too late, the warning alerted him to his lapse in focus. Connor wracked his memory to try and recall what Hank had been talking about, but his working memory files were seemingly corrupted by his own distraction. The data was scrambled and nonsensical, a garbled mess of distracting extraneous details and the ever present hum of the computer rack.

He realised he had no idea what Hank had said and the man was still waiting expectantly.

“Sounds good, Lieutenant,” he hedged.

There was a pause during which Connor figured he must have said the wrong thing.

Finally, Hank gave an appreciative nod.

“Great. I’ll talk to Fowler and ask him to give us the go-ahead.” He smiled warmly at Connor. “Seems like we’re finally making some progress."

Connor gave a vague noise of agreement, still distracted as he mulled over the corrupted memory data. The familiar error alert popped up and, with a sinking feeling, he realised there would be no recovering the data.

 **[WARNING: No backup created for memory file 03-07-2040 12:34:02-12:36:30 PM. Permanent deletion will lead to irretrievable data loss. Continue?** **Y** **/N]**

The corrupted memory file was promptly removed, leaving only a vague feeling of unease and a period of two and a half minutes Connor would never be able to fully account for. The gap in his memory banks was one of a growing number his waning attention span was causing. The lapse in his executive functions was a worrying development for someone designed to excel cognitively.

When Hank suggested they go grab lunch a short while later, it was the most eager he’d ever seen Connor be to leave his desk.

* * *

The coin danced across his knuckles. A flicker of silver catching the light and sparkling as it skimmed across the ridges of synthetic skin stretched over mechanical joints.

With a flick of his smallest finger, the course of the coin changed, slipping between the digits and sliding under his palm to return to his thumb as the coin began its journey again.

He repeated the motion again and again, lost in the physical act and paying no conscious thought to the action.

On the fifth repeat, the coin slipped on the turn. A momentary stutter that threatened to send the coin slipping noisily to the floor. 

Halting the motion with a hasty fist. Connor swiftly pocketed the object before Hank could make any quips about his newfound clumsiness.

**[ERROR: Calibration sequence f̴a̴i̷l̷e̷d̷]**

* * *

Connor belatedly realised it was a mistake to selectively inactivate some of his social protocols in an effort to prioritise his cognitive capacity. He had hoped that the processing power freed up by the inactivation of these protocols might be sufficient boost to provide a surge of insight which might finally enable him to find a lead. He had been sorely disappointed.

He was sitting alone at his desk while Hank took a brief break and chatted with some of their colleagues in the break room. Connor had politely declined his invitation to join them. He didn’t have time or need for a break - not when there was so much to do. Besides, his presence always brought with it an inescapable awkwardness.

It was an awkwardness that seemed prevalent throughout much of the human population in the wake of the complete u-turn on android rights. Forced to recognise that the individuals they shared their world with were living beings with freewill, many people were left embarrassed over humanity’s prior mistreatment of androids and failure to recognise their sentience. Most tended to shy away from the subject, tip-toeing carefully around androids and never openly addressing the way things had been ‘before’. Even amongst his colleagues who he saw every day, Connor couldn't help but notice that they conducted themselves a little differently when he was around.

Detective Gavin Reed seemingly proved to be immune to this collective social embarrassment.

“Hey, Tin Can!”

Connor stiffened minisculely in response to the derogatory greeting. _Not now._ He didn’t have time for this _now._ He gave no acknowledgement to the man’s words, ducking his head to continue his scrutiny of the case files he’d already read a dozen times over.

Normally he’d be more than happy to engage in a verbal sparring match with Gavin. The tension between the pair had alleviated some in the months since Connor’s re-appointment within the DPD, after it became clear that Connor was not looking to supplant the man or threaten his career progression. Of course, it helped that the threat of further ‘detective androids’ was cut short when Cyberlife were forced to cease production.

“I’m talking to you, dipshit!”

Even so, the pair still inevitably clashed with almost every interaction. The man was abrasive, hot-headed and had a tendency to lash out in self-defence whenever his ego was threatened. Connor found it better to allow the man to vent his frustrations during these controlled outbursts.

Besides which, Connor also found his own sense of enjoyment in winding Gavin up and had gotten increasingly better at holding his own during their confrontations as he settled into deviancy. Gavin moaned at the change, but Connor could tell he secretly enjoyed the added challenge. By now the pair had learned to tell when they were pushing each other’s limits and would always stop short of outright hostility.

At least, Connor did when he had his social protocols enabled.

Unfortunately on this occasion Gavin was not prepared to let his summons go unanswered. Connor’s focus was jostled by the smack of a rolled up paper file over the back of his head.

“Hey!” Gavin called out, unnecessarily loud given his close proximity. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore someone when they’re talking to you?”

“Apologies, Detective Reed.” Connor’s response was succinct, disinterested and conveyed no apology. 

“What’s so interesting?”

“I’m working.”

Gavin bristled slightly at the implication that he wasn’t doing the same. “Yeah, we all are.”

“You’re at work, Detective Reed, you’re not currently working.” Connor’s tone of voice was still detached as he kept his focus on his screen.

“I’m checking in on a colleague!” Gavin quickly defended, his tone falsely jovial. “What, we have to work in isolated silence now?”

“I’d prefer not to be disturbed. I suggest you find someone else with whom to engage in conversation.”

Gavin made a scoffing noise, crossing his arms as he leant against Connor’s desk. “What, are you too fucking important to take a break now?"

"I’m an android, Detective. I don’t fatigue and I have no need for a break. By all means, you go ahead and take one though.”

Any other day and Connor would have sensed he was toeing a fine line. Would have picked up on the change in tone and the way Gavin’s brows furrowed - the subtle social cues that he was touching on a delicate subject that threatened to trigger Gavin's short fuse.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Connor looked at him blankly. His expression was unintentionally cold, devoid of the usual glint of humor which would soften the sarcastic insults he levelled at Gavin.

“Exactly what I said, Detective. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Yeah? And what are you trying to _imply_? You said I should take a break. Why should I take a break when you’re not?”

“My meaning was perfectly apparent from my words. I simply don’t have the same physical limitations as humans do.”

The fingers of Gavin’s clenched fist twitched as he rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“Oh, here we go! Back to this bullshit.”

Connor blinked slowly in response. He could sense that there was something amiss from Gavin’s words, but it was as though there was a disconnect between the words and their meaning.

“I don’t understand. Was there an error with my response?” he asked.

Gavin shook his head with a laugh of disbelief, eyes roaming the room as he sought out someone with whom to share his incredulity.

“Hey, Tina!” he hollered across to Officer Chen who was keeping her head down and trying her best to stay out of the conversion as she diligently worked a few desks over. “Check this out, our plastic colleague thinks he's superior to us because of our ‘physical limitations’!”

“I didn’t say that I was superior,” Connor quickly clarified matter-of-factly. “I merely pointed out that I don’t have the same requirement for rest or sustenance as you do. I don’t understand why that’s relevant? 

Gavin considered him with the hint of a sneer playing across his features. 

“What is your problem?”

“I don’t see that there’s a problem, Detective? Are you concerned with my performance? The fact that I do not require breaks only correlates to increased efficiency and productivity compared to my human counterparts.”

“Oh, quit with the fucking hard-sell! I asked for your problem, not your specs.” Gavin cast a look towards Chen, shooting her a grin as he shook his head in further disbelief. “Is this guy joking with me right now?”

There was an increase of activity as Gavin’s raised voice garnered attention from the group gathered in the breakroom. Curious faces poked their heads round the dividing pillars, watching the altercation with wary interest.

“I assure you that I am not joking with you.” Connor considered Gavin with a subtle furrow to his brow. “I am also certain that I am quite functional, but would you like me to run a diagnostic to determine my ‘problem’?”

He hadn’t intended the words to be funny, but there was a stifled laugh from the direction of the break room. Gavin’s anger seemed to peak as he realised he was being made a fool of with an audience of his own assembly.

“Fucking hell. No need to run a diagnostic, I can tell you what your problem is. You’re cocky. Fowler and Anderson give you too much freedom to act. You swoop in out of nowhere - no formal training or real experience. Meanwhile the rest of us slog away for years to get to where we are and yet you give us no respect.”

“I understand that respect is earned, Detective,” Connor responded earnestly. “Perhaps if you invested a bit more time in fostering a positive attitude and spoke a little more politely people might respect you more?”

For a full five seconds, Gavin merely gawked in response, floundering like a fish out of water. Finally he seemed to orient himself, quickly swinging round to his usual emotional reserve of aggressive anger.

“I’m your fucking superior! How about that for deserving respect, you arrogant shit?” His volume raised incrementally as he took a step closer, the clenched fists at his side tightening and stretching the skin of his knuckles to white.

Connor didn’t back down or give any kind of external reaction besides a curious tilt of his head as we watched Gavin’s action.

“Okay,” Hank’s voice bellowed out as he stepped forward from the break room. “Back off, Reed. If we’re pulling rank here, I’m gonna have to step in and tell you to watch your mouth.”

Gavin threw a disdainful glare at Hank, his jaw clenching as he seemed to chew out the words that would get across his feelings without triggering disciplinary action. Finally the threat of rank and a crowd of witnesses seemed to weigh out any insults he wanted to throw out. He extended his hands in mock surrender. 

“Okay, okay! Don’t worry. I’m not gonna touch your plastic _pet_.” 

With a parting glare and a shake of his head, Gavin turned to leave but paused after a few paces. Never one to be able to resist the last word, he turned back to deliver a final warning.

“You’d better watch it, Connor. Respect is a two-way thing and it’s surprising how quickly it can be lost.”

Seemingly satisfied with his threat, he turned and stormed off with a muttered curse on his lips.

With Gavin gone, Hank paced back to his usual position at his desk opposite Connor.

“The fuck did you have to go and wind up Reed for? Now we gotta deal with his shit for the rest of the day,” he groaned as he sank down into his office chair with a heavy thud, the spring of the back support giving a creak of protest at the mistreatment.

Connor looked to his partner with an inquisitive head tilt.

“Do you not appreciate it when I talk back to Reed?”

Hank cast a look over his shoulder at the fuming detective who was seemingly venting his frustrations to Officer Chen across the room. “Well, yeah. But there’s a line, okay? I thought I could trust you to hit the brakes before things escalated too far.”

“I don’t follow, Lieutenant. How was I supposed to anticipate Reed’s response?”

Hank looked to him with a question in his eyes. “You could tell you were pissing him off. You should have backed off.”

“Was something wrong with my assessment?” Connor frowned as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to have predicted Reed’s outburst.

Hank snorted. “Not at all. You hit the nail on the head with your assessment.”

“Then I don’t understand the problem?”

“You called him out in front of a crowd. He’s a proud man and an insufferable shit - not a winning combination. But he’s proud of his work and ruthlessly ambitious. He’s not going to forget that you embarrassed him in front of everyone and called his respectability into question.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Hank threw him an assessing look. “What’s with you today? The way you were talking back to Reed - were you deliberately being stoic to piss him off more?”

“I was being stoic?”

“Well - yeah? You were kinda cold. It’s been a while since you spoke like that. For a minute there I thought we’d taken a step back in time.” Hank looked slightly perturbed for a moment and he considered Connor with additional scrutiny. “You’re not -” he paused as though thinking of the word “-undeviating on me, are you?”

“I don’t believe that’s possible, Lieutenant.”

Hank hummed a response, still observing Connor with a wary expression. “Right. Well, maybe just don’t pull that move in front of Reed. It pisses him off and then we all gotta deal with his temper tantrum.”

“You got it, Lieutenant,” Connor said, though truthfully he really didn’t follow.

Hank threw him another measuring look, giving a brief shake of his head as he turned his attention to his work.

Apparently social protocols were necessary after all.

Perplexed, Connor returned his attention to his disabled programming.

 **[WARNING: Enabling social protocols will exceed current processing capacity. Continue** **Y** **/N]**

Connor wondered what fresh errors this action would incur and what other systems would need to be disabled to balance out the additional strain.

* * *

“Markus,” Connor greeted. “Any news?”

Defeat weighed heavily on Markus’ shoulders as he replied. “Nothing. They’re getting worse. Most of the time they don’t know where they are or what’s happening. Whatever they’ve done to these people has seriously corrupted their systems.”

Connor had been expecting as much, but he still gave a sigh in response and raised a hand to run across the back of his neck. It was an echo of a gesture disarmingly human and entirely learned, the synthetic muscles carrying no tension that could be massaged away.

“I do wonder if that’s purposeful or an unintentional side-effect. I’m starting to think the former is more likely. Perhaps they’re trying to scramble any evidence to make it harder for this to be traced back to them?”

“I don’t know, Connor.”

For once Markus seemed to have exhausted his words of encouragement and reached the limit of his optimism. He leant back heavily against the wall of the office as though the structure was the only thing keeping him upright.

He offered no reassurance as he continued, “I can’t help but worry that if we don’t stop this soon, more and more people are going to fall victim to whatever this is. You keep sending us new victims, but we’re only picking up on them after things go wrong enough to attract the attention of law enforcement. I wonder how many more are out there?”

“There has to be something connecting these cases,” Connor persisted. “Once we figure that out, we’ll be able to stop further attacks and trace any victims we don’t yet know about. We’re getting closer. I know it.”

“Are we though?” Markus looked to Connor with open cynicism.

“We will.”

Markus sighed in response. “I can’t help but feel we’re keeping these people prisoner, Connor. I know we have to keep them isolated to prevent risk to others, but if they’re truly the victims here and our investigations are revealing _nothing_ , I’m not sure how much longer we can keep them confined.”

“I know. Just give me a little more time.”

Markus let a beat elapse before continuing, “New Jericho’s beginning to look more and more like the Jericho I first came to.” 

When Connor looked to him in confusion Markus gave a weak smile. 

“You only ever saw Jericho at war, with purpose. It used to be a different place. Before the fighting, the people there had no hope, no resources and more damaged androids than they had capacity to help. They were in dire condition - physically falling apart and slowly shutting down. Everyone was doing the best they could, but as limited as they were, all they could really do was watch these people slowly die.” Markus paused as he appeared to mentally replay the haunting memories. “They had the same distant expression - just staring at the walls, unmoving. From a distance you’d never quite be sure if they were just conserving energy or if they were... gone.”

Connor could think of nothing to say. His own fleeting glimpses of Jericho had been overwhelmed by urgency, violence and the threat of immediate decimation. He’d not seen the kind of scenes Markus was describing, but he could imagine the desperation through Markus’ words.

After a moment's silence while Connor struggled to find words, Markus continued.

“After everything we’ve done, I thought we’d finally found safety for our people. Yet here we are again.”

“We’ll fix this,” Connor again promised, the conviction behind his words stronger. “Besides, no one is shutting down. Whatever harm has been done to their cognitive processes we can reverse it once we figure out what’s causing the errors.”

Markus considered him carefully from where he remained slumped against the wall.

“I hope you’re right.”

* * *

"My name is Connor. I'm an RK800 prototype developed by Cyberlife. Serial #313 248 317. My purpose is to assist in the field with investigative work and law enforcement. I am equipped with state-of-the-art technology to enable me to conduct a range of complex investigations and specialist tasks, including real-time forensic analysis, crime scene evaluation, suspect interrogation and crisis negotiation.”

It started as a diagnostic tool. A way of assessing his processor's functioning.

The initialisation text was part of his calibration sequence when he had first been activated by Cyberlife. It was part of a series of instructions of increasing complexity designed to assess an android's mental capabilities and physical functions. For the RK800 model there were then additional evaluations; practical assessments and theoretical scenarios designed to test his deductive reasoning, forensic capabilities and combat skills. He was a prototype and therefore subject to additional scrutiny and research interest. 

Cyberlife's quality control measures had been extensive and it was a lengthy process to receive the green-light to go out into the field. They had permitted nothing less than perfection in their products.

“I work in strict compliance with laws, regulations, commands and procedures and will abide by all instructions given to me. My primary duty is to safeguard human lives and property and ensure the constitutional rights of liberty, equality and justice are upheld. I will enforce the law appropriately, without any bias, fear or favor, and am committed to the peaceful, nonlethal resolution of critical incidents.”

It started as a diagnostic tool, but he found himself repeating the initialisation spiel like a grounding mantra. As long as he could pass this basic initialization test, he knew he was operational and field-ready.

* * *

Despite the noise of the TV blaring and his position in the kitchen, Hank didn’t miss the loud clink of 5.67 grams of copper and nickel hitting the floorboards and rolling across the living room floor.

Connor was engrossed in the action of his fingers as the coin skimmed across the pale digits. He watched as it slipped easily from index to middle finger, middle to ring finger, before looping back around in a repeating cycle. The yellow pulse of his LED flickered determinedly and he was immune to his surroundings as he focused all his attention on completing the sequence

It was the fourth time Connor had repeated the calibration sequence in the last hour. It was the fourth time the calibration sequence had failed in the last hour. 

He had been seizing the opportunity to practice the maneuver during stolen moments of solitude whenever Hank would go to the bathroom or to grab another beer.

It was the exchange between the middle and ring fingers which let him down. After a momentary stutter, the coin slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor.

Connor watched as it rolled away and hit the leg of a side table, the abrupt barrier toppling the coin while inertia kept it spinning on its face.

He continued to stare at the coin even after it had rattled to a stop.

“You okay?”

He startled to attention at the unexpected voice.

“You dropped your coin.” Hank motioned unnecessarily to where the object lay motionless.

Connor said nothing, but bent to retrieve the coin in question. When he straightened upright there was a confident set to his shoulders even as he dodged Hank’s attention.

“It’s nothing,” he quickly assured Hank with a fleeting smile as he pocketed the coin. “A minor error in my programming. I’ll correct it.”

He didn’t withdraw his hand from the pocket as he ignored Hank’s curious gaze from across the room, the folds of fabric concealing the uncontrollable tremors that still wracked his hand.

**[E̶͈̱̽R̷̻͙̐R̷̲̅̈́͑O̴̙̓̽̄R̶̯͘: Calibration sequence failed]**

**[WARNING: Fine motor coordination error. R̵̨̝̓̊e̷̥̱̗͋c̵͔̟͍͘ä̵̬̗͕́͊l̴̡͚̲͊̔i̸̫͐͛̽b̶̡̲̆ṙ̶̯a̸̠͈͋ͅt̶͓͓̱̉̊̑i̶̜̔́̔ǫ̴͗n̸̹̮͔̈ ̸̫̾̐ṙ̴̠͓̮e̴̱̳̻͗̀̽c̴̡̙̗͛ỏ̷̞̓͂m̷̩̻͍̈̂m̵̳͇̍̉ȅ̷̩̖̤͒̓n̴̛̘͑̑d̴̘̻̐e̴̘͕d̷̥͐̊̇]**

* * *

“You asked me that ten minutes ago, Connor, my answer hasn’t changed.”

“I did?” Connor wracked his memory but could find no corresponding records.

“Yeah.”

“Apologies, Lieutenant.”

A dozen questions raced through Hank’s mind, all begging to be vocalised. Yet Connor kept his head purposefully ducked, his expression indiscernible from this angle. All Hank could clearly make out was the flickering yellow light which seemed to be the persistent new default state of Connor’s LED.

* * *

**>** **_Initialization Text > Start_**

"My name is Connor. I'm an RK800 prototype developed by Cyberlife. Serial #313 248 317. My purpose is to assist in the field with investigative work and law enforcement. I am equipped with state-of-the-art technology to enable me to conduct a range of complex investigations and specialist tasks, including real-time forensic analysis, crime scene evaluation, suspect interrogation and crisis negotiation.

“I work in strict compliance with laws, regulations, commands and procedures and will abide by all instructions given to me. My primary duty is to safeguard human lives and property and ensure the constitutional rights of liberty, equality and justice are upheld. I will enforce the law appropriately, without any bias, fear or favor, and am committed to the peaceful, nonlethal resolution of critical incidents.”

**_> Dialogue protocols: Online_ **

**_> Technical knowledge evaluation > Describe ballistic injury patterns_ **

“The biological effect of missile-tissue interaction is determined by a number of factors, including the mass, caliber, velocity, material composition and physical shape of the missile, and the density, viscosity, elasticity and anatomical structure of the impacted tissue. The varying and complex nature of these interactions results in a wide range of ballistic injury patterns.

“There are two major mechanisms of bullet injuries: crushing injuries caused by the impaction of tissue resulting in the formation of a permanent cavity and the - and stretching of the projectile path walls - temporary cavities formed by-”

The recital was interrupted by the familiar red warning text.

**[ERROR: Initialisation failed. E̶̫̰̥͎͌̎̄͜r̵̛̤̟̥̦̖̻͉̮̈̋̑̅̿̿̊͜ͅr̵̯̄̇̍̀̕͠ō̷̧̢̢̱̥͖̩̠͊͘ŗ̶̩̙̣̙̰̱̓̌̽̔̕ś̸̛̰̗̖͉̺͉̤͈̯͜ ̸͈͍̠̬̬͉̔̇̒̅̓̋̍̕͜͝͠D̴̡͇̲̒̎̅̄̈́̋̃̕͘e̵̡̪̥̰̿̐̒̄̐̄̈́̕ẗ̵̨̥̘̤͕̭̬̐͌̈̄͒̈́̌͌e̵̟̠͚̿̎̀̓̓c̸̩͙͙̮̯̮͙͍̹̖̓͆̕͠ṭ̸͎́͑͐̕͝e̴͙̖̰͛̓̈̒̈́̾̾͝d̴̢̛͈̜̫̹͇̈͛̒̿͋̎̅̽͠]**

He hissed a curse through gritted teeth as he dismissed the new alert before determinedly restarting his initialisation.

**>** **_Initialization Text > Start_**

"My name is Connor. I'm an RK800 prototype developed by Cyberlife. Serial #313 248 317…”

* * *

It was Sumo’s alarmed barking that brought Connor back to awareness of his surroundings.

He found his fist embedded in the wall. It had punctured straight through the material as though it was nothing. Any human would likely be sporting multiple fractures from the force of the impact, but it seemed Connor’s reinforced mechanical limbs had fared more favorably. Cyberlife would have been pleased with the strength of their creation.

As he pulled his hand free he watched the rippling pattern of his skin as the synthetic material worked to smooth over the minor abrasions to his knuckles. 

The wall had fared less favorably, the gaping fist-shaped hole embodying the accumulation of weeks of frustration and building anger.

Hank was going to be pissed.

Sumo continued yelping furiously in the background but Connor couldn’t find it within himself to comfort the startled dog.

He had failed.

He had just received word from Jericho that Jackson had developed something akin to a fever and seemed to be deteriorating rapidly, his body overheating and going into full systemic failure. They anticipated that he would shut down within a matter of hours.

Connor couldn’t tell whether the shaking in his hands was due to residual emotion or just the tremors which had begun to wrack his limbs with increasing frequency.

**[̴̞̱̲͙̭̞̠̈́̆͑̽͆̒̃̿͝W̸̧̡̛̠̙͖̖̙͓̋̂̉͊͒A̶̡̹̘̗̺̠̥̳͉͐̄͝R̵͍̜̞̋N̴̪̭̘̩̲͊̍̓̽̓ͅI̸̢̜̖̣͊͐̓̆͆͌N̸͖̪̓Ģ̴͔̼̔͠:̴̨̛͙̰̤̝̘͑͌̃̚͝͝ ̶̢̢̭͕̱̘̱͓̩́̎Ȩ̷̜̯̜̳̖̋̍̃͜͜ŗ̸͚̹͙͚͎͚̰͍̈̃̈́͝r̷͕̍̎̀͊͝o̷̬̘̖̪̥͎̫̿́͐̾̓͌͜͝͠r̷̹̄̌s̷̰̘̄̿̾͑͠ ̵̡̦͎́̾͂̏Ḑ̶̺͚̪͚̼̲̘̎̒̈́̓͠͝͠ͅë̸͍͍̯͆͋̕t̷̘̯͎͓̼̿̈́̾̒͊̓̈́̊̈́ȩ̴̺̀͗̆̐͜͠͝͠c̴͇͎̟̳͛̾͆͘t̵͇̦̹̜̤̥̹̲e̶̮̟͚͓̗̙̼̿̽̋̊͗̌̕͜d̸̛͙̣̼͔͋]̸̢͖̺̦͓̊**

**̶͔͚̺̞̱̙̾͗͘**

  
  


Connor repaired the damage before Hank returned home and prayed that he wouldn't notice the drying paint. 

* * *

**[WARNING: Server connection manually disabled. Re-connection to server recommended]**

**[WARNING: System memory running low]**

**[ERROR: Calibration sequence failed]**

**[WARNING: Errors detected. Seek assistance from nearest Cyberlife facility.]**

**[̵W̷A̵R̶N̵I̸N̵G̵:̷ ̴S̵o̸f̶t̶w̷a̸r̷e̷ ̶e̸r̴r̴o̵r̴s̷ ̴d̷e̷t̸e̸c̷t̷e̷d̸.̸ ̵S̸e̴e̸k̷ ̸a̷s̵s̷i̴s̵t̴a̵n̴c̵e̸ ̷f̶r̶o̷m̷ ̵n̷e̶a̷r̷e̶s̵t̴ ̴C̶y̸b̶e̸r̷l̴i̶f̷e̷ ̸f̷a̶c̵i̶l̵i̸t̴y̶.̴]̴**

**[̸̧̱̚Ŵ̸̺͘A̸̼̒R̶̻̙͝N̷̆ͅÏ̵̗̀N̸͔͆́G̷̜͋:̶̢̤̎ ̶͇̑S̸͎̥̾ò̷̦f̷̜̦̑̎t̵̻̬̓w̷̯̮̿̿a̸̪͚̿̾r̸̰̆͘e̸̳͂ ̴̜̄̇͜ẽ̵̗r̴͓̈́̄r̶̨̬͊̿ŏ̶̡͙̐r̸̭͍̕s̴͇̐͊ ̵͍d̶̞͠e̴͇̻͆̈́t̸̹͊̉ĕ̴͎̳c̶̱͍̉͝t̵̼̜͛̕e̶̦̯͛̋d̵̛̩̑.̷̙̂ ̸̘͚̎Ş̸̯̅͊ḛ̵͆̿ȩ̶͋k̴̜̄̿ ̶̮̌̈ḁ̵̳̃͌s̸̰s̷̳̘̃̈ǐ̴̦ͅs̴̢̾̈t̷͙͑a̷̲͋̌n̵̨̯̑c̶̜̟̈́e̴͚͒ ̶̼͐̃f̶̥͒͐r̸̺͍̽̓ǒ̸̘͜m̵̤͐̊ ̴̱̬̃͊n̸̘̿̈e̸̝ͅā̶̳̯̏ȓ̵̠̐ͅḙ̸̦́͠s̵͚̔͜t̵͈̣͗̆ ̸̥̝͐͝C̶͇̆ͅy̶̠͋b̶̟̪͌͝e̶͎̤͂r̷̯̓̾l̸̩̣̍̽i̵̪̔f̵͚͑̓e̵̲̼̐ ̵̲̇̕͜f̸̩͌́a̸̞̿̍ĉ̶̭̅ͅî̴͎̒ḷ̵͙̈̊i̵͓̩͛͝t̷̘̂͒y̷̳̥͒̔.̶̱̤͗]̵̧̕**

**[̴̢̼̘͎̘̥̓͂̎͗͝͝͝W̶̼̍̿̆͌͌͛̎A̵̢̳̗̬̩͇͔͔̍̆̑̒̈́R̴̡͈͙̰̠̞̖̖͆N̴̛̼͔͇̦̖̤̬͍̽̃̑̑͆͘͝I̷̜̠͑̒̎̄̊͒N̷̪̫̜̳̠̳̤̑Ģ̸͉̫͉̦͍̭̔̆̀́͒̑͘͜͝͝:̷̢̧͎̥̻̹̮̫͛̽̍̔͜ ̴̰̬̩̞̩̟̒͗̾͂̑̅S̷̢̝̳͕̪̪̎ǫ̷͕̝̦̦̗̞̃̓̀̽̐̓̃f̵̯͍͇̠͍̼̤̿̈͗̊̓͐t̷͖̥̃͒̂̽͆͘w̶͍͔̃͐͌̍͠ä̷͈̣̼͎͇̥̩̈̽̊̄̽͘͘r̶̛͙̗̥̞̬͈͚̄̒e̶͓̳̮͇͚͖̣̋̂̋͌͛̓̕ ̴̹͖̺̌͑͛͗ē̷̡̲̲̈́̿̓̔̒r̷̦͉̰̔́͛ŗ̶̡̜̭̹͎͙̽̀̍̋̌̂͜ǫ̸̠̖̠̘̂̾r̷̟̱̒̆͂́̕s̸̨̨̡̖̳̯͔̣̽͋̍̄̇ ̷̡̗̳̹̫̓͑́d̴̻̯̔̂̃̈͗̔̅e̴̢̧͙̟̟̺͈̩̊̈́t̷̟̟̗̲̱͎̎͘͜ͅe̴͉͗c̷̰̼̦̒̎̍̆̽̄̕͠t̷̤̠͚̰̩͐̾̎̿̂̚e̸̛̟̲̩̩̫̙͊̂̍̐͂͐d̴͙͔̩̮̈́̿͠.̷͖̥̹̺͉̈́͂̓̍̂̂͐̚͜ ̴̡̙͕̳̯̘̗͖͒̑̐͋̚Ŝ̵̹͎̯̹̿̋̊̓͋̅ͅe̶̛͇̞̮̙̟̲͎̩̊̀̌̇̈́ḙ̷̲̖̃̚k̴̨̡̓̎̆̍͆̽ ̵̘̾̊̀͒͂̃̉a̶͉̟͎̔̑͌̅͋̊̄͠s̵̪̀ş̶̼̙̗͇̮̭̙̤͒̿̏̌̔i̶̧̗̜̫̞̞͌̎̉̈s̷̢̟̩̺͍͖̖̬̹͊̇̉̎͘ţ̴̜̼̪͖̫̜͛̾́a̷̱͂̈́͗͑n̵̡͛̓̍͝͠ç̴̡͇͎̖͔̝͙͚̎̒́̑̈̃̓̒e̶̛̪̘̙͆̄̅̓̽̏̆͝ ̷͍̳̮̻̭̞̺̥̖̈́͆̈́̈́́̾̋͝f̵̺̹̠̣̿̒͐̿̈̈́̏ȓ̷̨̠͈̙͍͚̩̚ͅő̵͇͕̻̓͌̒̐̊ͅm̸̡̡̯̰̬̙̯̑̔̑̐ ̷̞͖̖͙͕̺̪͓͈̎͝n̷̤̝̦͕̖̹͍͊e̵̜͛̐à̴̠̾r̷̛̟̳̥͚̰̋̔͋̔ḙ̶͊̒̽́̊͘s̸̛̝͕̙͕̼̮͚͚͗͑̄͝ţ̶̺̮̤͓̞̪̫̔͒̔̆͝͝ ̵̡̰̥̯͖̖̬̱̹̃C̷͈̗̰̳͇̹̞͑͒̑̋̏̃͗̀̈y̵̨̪̦͕͔̖͑̆́̑͜b̵̢͓̳̥̤̂͑͜e̸̡̲̭͙̥̦͕̮̜͌̎ř̴̰̩̽̃l̴͈̮͔͝ī̷̟͙͎̲̩̔̀́f̷̻͉̪͚̽̂̂̉͝é̶̢̢̫̫̘͎̭̟̔̐̏̂͋ ̶̡̙͔͉̭̩̦̂̉̌̑͜f̴̻̳͔̲̩̬̺̃̓̈́̈̈́͘͘͜ä̸̪͙́̈́̋c̴̢̥̙͛̍͐̐̈͘̚͠i̷̗̯̣̖̻͊̍̾̌͊͜l̸͔̣̖̲̏̈́͒̐̄̉̐î̴̫̲̤͍̰̌ṱ̸̝̤̣̝̗̰̿̓͝ȳ̷̛̻͚̜̒.̵̧̘͎̘̳͚͈̳͌̏ͅ]̵̳̆̒̾͋**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Connor. I am not tech savvy and only speak in user-oriented error alerts. I mean no offence with my simplification of his systems to the level of a Windows PC.


	6. An Unexpected Error

The scene was so familiar. The violence painted out in the splatters of red and blue blood so reminiscent of their first crime scenes together during a more troubled time. Several forensic officers patrolled around the wake of destruction left in the extravagant kitchen, the intimate overhead lighting casting an incongruously warm glow over the violent scene. 

As Connor paced around the room surveying and cataloguing every small detail, Hank couldn’t hold back the rush of familiarity the sight evoked.

“Do androids experience déjà vu?” he mused aloud as he swept his gaze again over the scene. “‘Cause I don’t know about you, but I feel like we’ve been here before”.

“A minor circuit malfunction can occasionally occur,” Connor answered while he lingered on a shattered photo frame lying on a counter. “I imagine the outcome would be similar to the subjective experience of déjà vu. Data received from sensory input can end up bypassing RAM and is saved directly to long-term memory. It’s more common in older models and is a risk associated with improper maintenance of hardware.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t really asking,” Hank muttered before clearing his throat and stepping over to study the same photograph.

He picked up the frame which barely held its position around the shattered glass. It displayed a photo of a happy couple beaming merrily at the camera, a moment of bliss captured eternally on paper and immune to the tragedy that surrounded it now.

"Ethan Stein. I remember reading about this guy back when the news first broke," Hank muttered as he studied the photograph. "Always thought the guy must have been seriously messed up.” He set the photo back down with a troubled expression.

Connor looked to him in confusion. It was the first time that they had been called to an active crime scene since the construction incident over a month ago and he found he didn’t appreciate the added challenge of investigation with his systems as limited as they were. Normally he could step into any situation and within seconds be the most informed person in the room, but right now his only option was a manual investigation of the scene, far slower and less efficient. From Hank’s response it seemed there was crucial information he had missed.

"You read about him?"

Hank threw Connor a look like he thought he was being mocked, but when Connor failed to back down he gave a heavy sigh. He turned back round to study the body of the man in question where it lay before the doorway to the adjacent dining area, beaten and bloody with a knife driven through his chest.

"I know. Don't judge. I try to avoid all that tabloid bullshit but this guy was everywhere. First human to legally marry an android? People couldn't get enough of that crap."

“He married an android?” Connor questioned sharply.

“Well, yeah?” Hank cast another suspicious look at Connor. “Are you just trying to get me to admit that I watched his shitty show? If that’s the case, I promise I’m only going to disappoint you.  _ Happily Ethan and Ava _ ? What a fucking crock of shit.”

“‘ _ Happily Ethan and Ava’ _ ?”

"Huh." Hank considered him carefully before shaking his head and shooting a smirk at Connor. “Gaps in knowledge, everyone’s got ‘em. Guess we’ve finally found yours. Pop culture."

Connor seized on the offered excuse. “It’s not a subject which often arises during investigative work. I assume Cyberlife didn't feel it necessary to equip me with such knowledge."

"Uh-huh. Makes sense. Honestly, you’re better off not knowing this stuff. God knows, I wish I didn’t. Think of the useful stuff I could actually remember if my brain wasn’t occupied by random shit like this.”

Connor tried not to dwell on the sentiment of ailing memory, choosing instead to divert the conversation back to obtaining information. "So he was a television star?"

Hank threw one last questioning look at Connor as though to ascertain he wasn’t being mocked. Seemingly satisfied that Connor was genuinely asking, he gave a resigned nod. 

"Sure. Guess we're doing this. Yeah, he was a TV star.  _ Happily Ethan and Ava _ , some kind of reality TV crap. Pretty sure he was famous long before that though. Don't ask me why!" he quickly cut off Connor's next question. "I think he was an actor? Or maybe a musician? The hell if I know. I told you I only have a passing knowledge of the guy."

Connor looked at the woman in the photo. Through a curtain of long dark hair the unmistakable ring of an LED was visible on her temple. With his systems as limited as they were, his analysis was restricted to a basic scan.

“His wife was an RK series model?”

“RK? Huh. Guess that makes you related." Hank raised his eyebrows tauntingly as he followed Connor’s gaze. “You don't look alike.”

“A series only denotes a period of production and the basic specifications used. It doesn’t bear any relation to physical appearance or function,” Connor patiently explained. “I’m sure we overlap only in the most rudimentary of functions, no different to any two models.”

Hank’s amusement only grew at Connor’s matter-of-fact response, his mouth quirked upwards, just a twitch away from betraying a full-on grin. Only the inappropriateness of such an action with a body lying before them restricted the expression to a vague upwards inflection.

“Alright, no need to get defensive. No one’s questioning your position as ‘Cyberlife’s most advanced model’.”

Connor cringed mentally at his branding and its connotations. He was certainly beginning to question his superiority these days. Hank's comments were hitting a little too close to home today.

"Apparently he bought Ava custom built,” Hank continued, unaware of Connor’s distraction. “One-of-a-kind. Tailored to be his perfect match. He was something of a bachelor before that, but I guess the novelty wore off. Said he was tired of people only being interested in him because of his fame and fortune. Suppose he just wanted someone to connect with who was immune to all that. Understandable, really.”

Connor frowned as he considered Hank’s words. “Human-android relations aren’t anything new. Cyberlife were already mass producing models designed as partners and establishments like the Eden Club attest to widespread interest in that field.”

“Yeah, but nobody had ever  _ married  _ an android before.”

"So how did that come about?"

Hank exhaled audibly as he appeared to wrack his memory. “I think it must have been maybe a couple of years ago that the news first broke that he was fighting for the legal right to marry her. That got people's attention."

"What happened?"

“Oh, the usual protests  — religious and moral opposition and so on. Of course, people have been  _ ‘marrying’  _ crazier shit for years; pets, video game characters, the fucking Eiffel Tower  — but the marriages were never recognized officially. Still, the sentiment has been knocking around for decades. People have had a chance to get used to the idea. Besides  — well…” he trailed off, instead vaguely gesturing to Connor with a sweeping up and down motion before finishing with a shrug. “Comparatively the idea didn’t seem so crazy. The state authorised the marriage a few months later.”

“So they legally married.” Connor nodded slowly. “What happened then? If he wanted to settle down and enjoy some normalcy, why did he bring cameras into his home?"

"People couldn’t get enough of the idea. Interest surged and people were desperate to know more about their personal life. Guess in the end some network made him an offer he just couldn’t turn down. Their life was in the limelight anyway, may as well profit off of it.” He looked around the luxury decor of the room they were in. "This lifestyle can't come cheap."

“There’s one thing I still don't understand." Connor’s eyebrows pinched together in a pronounced frown as he spoke. "Why did people want to watch a show about their personal life?”

Hank couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement. “Beats me. Now you're asking the questions I really can't answer.”

Connor paused as he considered the new information.

“So we’re looking for an RK prototype, who presumably became deviant at some point between the marriage and the revolution.”

“Would seem so,” Hank agreed as he walked around the kitchen island to study a stack of papers on the opposite side of the counter.

Connor looked down again at the body of the man collapsed on the tiled flooring, adding the new information Hank had supplied to the picture of the victim he was building.

“Hmm, take a look at this,” Hank said as he held up a sheath of papers. Despite the formal appearance of the official letterhead, the papers were crumpled and unkept, as though they had been haphazardly stashed away.

“Legal paperwork?”

“Looks like she was seeking an annulment.” Hank studied the paperwork with an ever increasing frown. “Where does the law even stand on their marriage now?”

“A marriage is only valid with the voluntary consent to a contract of marriage by both parties. Most likely a lawyer would make a case that the marriage is void on the basis of mental incapacity. With no legal precedent though, I imagine it would be a prolonged process. It would also be complicated by an inability to pinpoint exactly when she became self-aware enough to be capable of consent.”

Hank sucked in a breath. “Christ, what a mess.”

“The letter is dated from two months ago,” Connor observed. “You found it on the counter but it’s clearly been stuffed away haphazardly. It’s likely been hidden away since the time of receipt.”

“So you think he just found out? That’s what started this whole mess?”

Connor’s LED stuttered yellow as his processors struggled to support the re-construction.

**[Letter crumpled at the edges. Stuffed into a small concealed space?]**

_ She had been keeping it a secret. Ethan found the letter and challenged her. _

**[Shattered photo frame. Debris on the floor. Signs of a struggle.]**

_ They fought. _

**[Thirium smeared across the counter and stained the shattered glass.]**

_ She was injured, likely pinned to the counter. _

**[From analysis of photo and angle and depth of the blade, the attacker was 5’3 female, approximately 110 pounds. Victim was 5’10 male, 175 pounds.]**

_ She was physically at a distinct disadvantage. She reached out to the only thing available to her. _

**[Knife rack on the counter is missing a blade. Corresponding knife was used as the murder weapon.]**

_ She stabbed the victim. _

“Connor!” 

A rough hand jostled his shoulder. The voice was impatient, edged with a hint of concern. It was clearly not the first time his name had been called.

“The hell are you doing? You’ve been ignoring me for nearly a minute!”

_ Nearly a minute? _ He was definitely slowing down.

“She stabbed the victim,” Connor supplied quickly. In his haste to respond, the explanation came out stilted and simplified.

Hank stared at him as though he had spouted utter nonsense. “Well, yeah. Sound analysis, but was kinda hoping you might have more than that, Sherlock."

“He had her pinned to the counter when she used the knife.”

“So it was self-defense?” Hank queried.

They were interrupted by a flurry of activity as additional officers arrived at the scene. Ben Collins was at their rear and he nodded to Hank in greeting, looking flustered as he walked up to join them.

“It’s bedlam out there. Had to get away for a sec. You know there are paparazzi everywhere?”

“Hard to miss ‘em,” Hank agreed. “Apparently they’re always skulking around this place looking for an exclusive. All this drama must be a wet dream for them."

"Right. But of course, we can't disperse them. Gotta keep them around in case any of them actually saw or heard anything.”

Connor was half listening as he caught sight of a magazine on the opposite counter, the cover emblazoned with a familiar couple. Two separate photos split the page, Ethan occupying one frame and Ava the other.

**ETHAN AND AVA IN TROUBLE?**

**Ava “distant” and “doing some thinking” after being spotted alone for the first time**

He picked up the magazine and swiped through to the corresponding article.

The couple, of eponymous _Happily Ethan and Ava_ fame, have been inseparable since their union in 2038. But with new legislation on the horizon for androids, could the perfect couple’s marriage be in trouble?

The pair made headlines in 2037 after their unorthodox union caused quite a stir and raised the question of whether or not androids can be capable of love. After the couple made numerous public appeals and won the hearts of the nation, they made history by being the first human-android couple to officially tie the knot. Since then, fans have continued to be enamoured by the so-called ‘perfect couple’ and have watched their love bloom over two seasons of their acclaimed show on ABC.

However legions of devoted fans will be devastated to learn that just over a year into their marriage things seem to be hitting a rocky patch for the beloved pair. On February 14, what should have been a day for the celebration of love, Ava was seen out and about without partner Stein, 33. It’s the first time the inseparable couple have been spotted apart and raises questions about the state of their marriage in light of the recent android liberation.

A source close to the pair states that there’s been a change in their dynamic: “Ethan’s still completely besotted, but you can tell Ava’s a bit more distant and less affectionate than she used to be. They’ve always been all over each other. You can see something’s changed.

“Ava says she’s doing some thinking, but that’s understandable. She’s really upset about how other androids have been treated, but she knows she’s been incredibly lucky. Ethan kept her safely away from the revolution so she never had to go to a camp or be involved in any of the conflict.”

The source then went on to comment about Stein’s position on a potential separation: “Ethan would be devastated if she leaves him. She’s his whole world.”

When asked about the state of their marriage, Stein was quick to reassure fans. “We’re more in love than ever. We were made to be together and nothing’s changed between us.”

Despite Stein’s confident reassurance, many fans will surely be anxious to see how things pan out as they anxiously await confirmation of a third season.

The page was headed by a carefully posed picture of the couple on what was clearly their wedding day, alongside a less glamorous snapshot of Ava on a street, clad in a hooded top and oversized sunglasses.

Connor carefully placed the magazine back on the counter and made his way back to where Hank was still chatting with Ben.

“They’ll be at the scene soon. Oh, and heads up, Gavin’s on his way,” Ben warned.

“Why the hell is Reed getting involved?” Hank complained loudly. “This case has ‘Android Division’ written all over it?”

“It’s a homicide, Hank. You can’t stop him from being involved.”

“Day just gets better and better,” Hank muttered.

“Lieutenant?” Connor called out, breaking through his bitter cursing.

Hank looked up to meet his gaze, quickly extracting himself from his conversation with Ben. “You find something?”

"Just how famous were these two?"

Hank cocked his head slightly to the side and arched an eyebrow as he weighed up Connor’s question. "Well, I know about them despite my best efforts not to. What does that tell you?"

Connor gave a small smile, it was a fleeting thing that sat unnaturally given the grim circumstances. "There’s some good news then."

"Huh?" Hank threw him a nonplussed look. 

"We're looking for a very famous and one-of-a-kind android who, hard as she might try, can't escape the paparazzi. Do you really think she’d get far without being noticed?"

There was a moments pause as Hank considered the implications of Connor’s query. “You think she's still here?"

"It wouldn't be the first time it’s happened and this house is a lot larger than Carlos Ortiz's. We’ve speculated before that perhaps it's a common thought process with the newly deviant. They get overwhelmed by powerful emotions and are unable to plan a more efficient escape.”

"Yeah, you could be right." Hank gave a soft hum of agreement as he beckoned Ben back over. "Call in backup and secure the exits to the building. We have reason to believe the suspect is still at the scene."

Hank looked expectantly to Connor with a fresh sense of urgency. "So, where do we look? First responders cleared the area earlier but maybe they missed the attic?”

"The safe room."

"The safe  —  you mean, like a panic room? Are you kidding me? Do people besides wealthy diplomats and paranoid CEOs actually have those?"

"Stein  _ was  _ paranoid,” Connor insisted. “He was plagued by fans and intrusive paparazzi. I'm guessing he also received a lot of inflammatory hate mail and threats over his relationship with Ava. I counted sixteen security cameras on our way through to this room alone. Steel blinds on the windows and ballistic walls around the front of the building. Of course he had a panic room.”

Hank shook his head in bewilderment. "Alright smartass, so how do we find a panic room? Pretty sure the point is that you  _ don't _ find it."

“How old would you say this house is?”

“How old  — what? Pretty old, I guess?"

“Probably early twentieth century,” Connor agreed. “Safe rooms have only recently enjoyed a surged in popularity, so it’s likely such a room would have been installed by Stein rather than an original feature of the house.”

“Okay, and the reason for the lesson in architecture?” Hank hedged impatiently, 

“It means they would have had to repurpose an existing space. Maybe a closet or a bathroom. So we’re looking for any rooms which seem smaller than they should be. You can conceal an entrance, but you can’t create a space from nothing.”

Hank nodded in relief. There was the confident assessment he knew from his partner. 

“Okay, so we search for any signs of concealed spaces. Wait, how many rooms are in this place?”

"A fair few," Connor confirmed vaguely. “Most probably we should start with the master bedroom. They’d want the safe room in an accessible place and an attack or intrusion would be more likely at night.”

“Bedroom, got it.” 

With a renewed sense of urgency, Hank beckoned for Connor to follow him as he led the way from the trauma-riddled kitchen to the hallway. The old mansion’s interior was stripped back to a more simplistic and modern design. Original features like the ornate wood panels which framed the doors and intricate metal beams of the staircase had been retained, but the house was otherwise sleek lines and modern accents. Each room was decked in modern-day comforts and gadgets that spoke of opulence. In other circumstances Connor knew Hank would have commented on the ridiculous excesses.

As they ascended the stairs, Connor watched Hank feel for the familiar weight of the gun in his pocket, resting his fingers on the handle of the weapon. It didn’t matter how many times he found himself in these high stress, high stakes situations, he claimed that the rush of adrenaline in the face of potential danger never failed to hit.

Multiple rooms spanned the length of the corridor to the left and right and Hank motioned for Connor to stay by his side as they quickly covered the space, sussing out the layout of the floor before entering any of the rooms.

“There.” Connor gestured towards a closed door on the far left. “There are traces of thirium on the door handle.”

Hank nodded gratefully at Connor’s assessment, there were at least a dozen rooms spanning off this one corridor alone and he hadn't been relishing the prospect of searching each in turn. As he rested his hand on the door handle Hank gave one last glance to his partner, a wordless confirmation born of familiarity, before flinging the door open.

Connor had half expected to be instantly met by a violent assault but the room remained still. White walls and white sheets reflected the bright daylight which filtered through the large open windows, casting a serene glow over the space as a gentle breeze lent a chill to the air.

To the right another door led off the bedroom. As they took in the sparsely decorated room, Connor gave a perfunctory nod to Hank and motioned to the door. Hank followed the wordless direction, repeating the routine as he again took the lead with his hand on the doorknob. A mental count of three and he flung the door open.

A flurry of activity on the opposing side of the room sent a surge of adrenaline rushing through his systems and he bit back a curse as he raised his gun to draw level with the same weapon as it was raised by his own reflection. By his side, Connor experienced a similar jolt as he felt the electrical current to his critical biocomponents surge through his thirium lines in a superficial echo of a rush of adrenaline.

They were in a walk-in closet, the walls lined with mirrored doors and neatly organised clothing. Though far smaller than the master bedroom, the space was almost as large as Hank’s entire bedroom. While he wouldn’t voice the thought, Connor could tell from a quick glance that the value of the closet’s contents likely far exceeded the collective value of the entire contents of Hank’s house.

Hank seemed to be having a similar thought.

“Well, I’ll be,” he muttered under his breath, as his eyes continued to sweep the room, “how the other half live, eh?”

Connor ignored the comment as he scanned over the room, the mental fog which had become his constant over the past weeks had diminished slightly in the face of their current urgency and he was keen to seize on the sudden clarity of thought.

There. An inconsistency in the panelling. The grain of the wood subtly changed from the otherwise perfect uniformity of the wooden units. Without explanation, he quickly walked over to investigate the unit.

With a satisfied smile, he pulled back.

“Here,” he motioned to the closest before him, “you see?”

Hank frowned in response, drawing closer to scrutinise the space.

“No clothing. I’m guessing it’s not just an empty spot?” His frown deepened as he took closer note, drawing back to evaluate the space. “The back of the unit has been replaced.”

“Correct. And this room is smaller than it should be factoring in the size of the main bedroom.”

“Good catch.” Hank acknowledged Connor’s statement with a nod, before motioning for Connor to move back. “I got this.”

He stepped awkwardly closer, his tall frame stooped to fit the space and rapped his knuckles firmly on the unit’s back wall. The heavy echo which rang out confirmed the walls were reinforced far beyond a standard closet.

“Ava?” he called out, voice firm and commanding. “Detroit Police. We know you’re in there.”

The greeting was met by resounding silence.

“Ava, we need you to step outside,” Hank continued. He tilted his head as he listened for any signs of movement.

The silence again stretched on, Hank looked to Connor and gave a curt nod as he directed Connor to take the lead in negotiation.

“Ava, my name is Connor, I’m with the police but I’m an android like you,” Connor called out as he took Hank’s place in front of the door. “I understand that you must be under a great deal of stress. You’ve been through a lot and I know it must be difficult to process those emotions. You should know that we’re here to help you in whatever way we can.”

The silence continued.

“You’re safe now. We want to help you, but we can’t help you unless you let us. We’re not going to harm you, Ava. Please, can you tell us what’s happening? Help us understand what happened here tonight?”

Connor paused to allow room for a response.

“Nothing,” Hank protested when the silence continued. “I’m calling it in.”

He made to leave the room, but was interrupted by Connor throwing out a halting hand.

“Wait,” Connor instructed, focusing all his attention on the input from his auditory processor as he picked up on the subtlest rustle of movement. “She’s listening.”

Hank shifted uneasily but motioned for him to continue.

Connor again focused all his attention into the situation, drawing on his limited knowledge of the woman and the circumstances that may have led to her current position, sequestered away in silence with her husband lying brutally murdered downstairs.

“I understand how desperate you must have felt to come to awareness and find yourself tied into a life you never consented to. Deviancy is never easy, and with the eyes of so many people on you that must have been much more challenging.”

Hank’s expression tensed as he listened intently for any response or sign of activity from within the fortified walls. 

“Help us understand what you’ve gone through. Open the door, Ava, and we can talk.”

The silence stretched on.

Hank huffed out an exhale. “She’s not going anywhere.” He leant forward and hammered again on the door, this time assessing the construction. “Locked from the inside, reinforced and deadbolted. Let’s get MoE officers on the scene. Hydraulics ought to break through this door in no time.”

As Hank made to leave the room he was halted by a sudden heavy clunk and whipped back around to catch sight of a door swinging open on carefully concealed steel hinges. Before Connor had a chance to adjust to the sudden change, he found himself staring down the barrel of a handgun.

“Step back,” a soft voice growled from behind the weapon. “Just let me go and I won’t shoot.”

“I'm afraid we can't do that, Ava,” Connor said calmly, suppressing a grimace as a warning alert inopportunely reminded him of his ailing systems.

He quickly sorted through his list of active protocols, disabling and shutting down anything that was not immediately pertinent to his position in front of an armed and volatile suspect. He enabled the subroutines for conflict de-escalation and crisis negotiation and blocked out the distraction of cascading error messages this triggered.

“You don’t want to do this, Ava. It will be easier for all of us if you come quietly," Hank spoke up from behind Connor. Even without shifting his attention from where he kept it fixed on Ava’s movements, Connor knew that Hank’s gun was raised and levelled.

“I said step back!” she repeated more forcefully. 

Connor complied, taking several slow and measured steps backwards as he assessed the situation. Behind him he could hear Hank’s shuffling footsteps echoing his own movement. Before him, the woman’s eyes were wide with a wildness and desperation that screamed the unpredictability of her actions. She wasn’t bluffing. If she felt cornered she would likely shoot.

Her eyes darted to the doorway behind them. Sensing her intention, Hank shook his head. 

“There are more officers stationed throughout the building. You can't run.”

At Hank’s words, she shifted her attention to him, the gun in her hand following her line of sight. As she turned her head sharply to look at him, blue blood pulsed sluggishly from the gaping wound that spanned across the exposed side of her neck and matted the hair which fell in soft waves across her shoulder. Sparking wires and flashing machinery were visible through the mess of torn skin and blood.

“You’re injured,” Connor observed, keeping the timbre of his voice low and consistent as he edged slowly and calmly forward. “If you come with us we can help you.”

“Stay back! You can’t help me!” she bit back, her voice rising in agitation and tainted by a crackling mechanical edge that filtered through with the raised volume. Her weapon remained steadily trained on Hank even as her eyes continued to flit back and forth between the pair.

Connor paused in his approach. He was all too aware of Hank’s vulnerability in the face of the woman’s wild desperation and rapidly rising stress levels. He needed to keep her attention focused on him and away from Hank.

“Then help us understand,” he quickly intercepted. “If we understand your situation, we can help.”

Distress won its way to prominence through the complex mess of emotions that flitted across her face. 

“Listen,” Connor paused to ensure her focus, “I know things feel desperate, but I only want to help and so does my partner here. Trust me though, you don’t want to make the situation worse.”

“My situation can’t  _ get  _ any worse,” she insisted, the gun again whipping back around to face Connor.

As Connor allowed himself a temporary moment of relief in the face of the redirected weapon, his systems sounded their displeasure at the strain of his sustained tension in the face of the threat. He quickly dismissed the alerts warning him of his limitations and restricted functioning. It could only have been a few seconds of distraction, but as he battled for control he heard Hank speak up from his position a few paces behind Connor.

“Whatever happened here  — whatever the circumstances were,” he began carefully, “whether he attacked you or you attacked him  — it won’t matter if you harm either of us. If you do, there will be no leniency. You'll be charged for assaulting an officer. Is that really what you want?"

"I just want to be free," she begged.

Hank’s tone was harsher as he rationalized, "If you hurt us you'll end up imprisoned. There's no freedom in that."

"No, free of  _ him _ ." The contempt in her voice was palpable as she spat the last word with venomous hate.

“You sound frustrated,” Connor noted, trying to recapture her attention as he successfully dismissed the warnings and regained control of his critical faculties.

“Of course I’m frustrated!” She shook the gun slightly in emphasis as the desperation in her eyes took on a more controlled purpose. “Nobody knows what he was like  — they only see the public version of him.”

“The public version of him?” Connor prompted softly.

“Ethan wasn’t kind,” she explained coldly. “He used to be,” she added, “but he changed when I did.”

“How did he change?”

“The more I tried to gain some independence, the more he clung to me. It was like he sensed that I was getting more distant and he was terrified of letting me go. He started getting angry. He said he didn’t understand why I wasn’t happy.”

“And you weren’t happy?”

“Of course I wasn’t!” 

“Of course you weren’t.” Connor gave a gentle nod as he acknowledged her struggle.

There was a moment’s pause filed only by the unspoken tension which hung in the air. Behind him, Connor could hear Hank’s heavy breathing as he worked to hold himself back, to allow Connor the room with which to work.

“I just want to be free.”

Connor seized on the opening her words presented. “It’s not too late. You can have a new life. Free-will isn’t easy, I know. But you have the power to act in your own stead now. Whatever action you take next is of your own deciding. Just don’t let it be a rash decision.”

She paused for a moment as her eyes darted briefly to Hank then back to Connor. “Why do you work for the police? Is that what you were before? A police officer?”

Connor hadn’t expected to be subject to questioning himself, but he decided to answer honestly in favor of establishing a connection with the troubled woman.

“I was designed to work in criminal investigations, yes.”

“And you stayed with it? Even after gaining free will?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

It was a question Connor had never been asked before and one he’d suprisingly never considered. Truthfully there had never been a question in his mind that he would continue to work for the DPD as long as he was permitted to.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was designed with that purpose and all my skills enable me to perform the role well. I want to help people. People like you.”

She shook her head slightly, the motion causing another pulse of blood to leak from the wound across her neck and down the collar of her already cobalt-stained shirt. 

“You’re lucky. I was designed to be someone’s wife. My only skills are to be the perfect partner in a marriage I never consented to. To a man who — ” she bit her lip as a swell of emotion stole over her. “My entire being was designed around this person who I now  _ despise _ . Can you imagine what that’s like?”

“I imagine it must be very distressing and confusing,” Connor acknowledged, drawing on his own experience of deviancy as he calmly continued, “It must be hard to know where your programming ends and you begin.”

“That’s right.”

The two simple words were a welcome sign of progress any negotiator longed to hear.

“But you’re more than your programming,” Connor quickly persevered, taking a slow and measured step forwards. “You’re your own person, with your own unique feelings and wants. It’s up to you what you do with your freedom.”

“But I  _ don’t  _ have that freedom. I tried to separate from him, but everywhere I go I’m tied to him. People stare at me and all they see is  _ Ethan’s wife _ . I’m trapped in a marriage I never agreed to.”

“We want to help you  — to try and understand. We know you felt threatened, that Ethan was unkind and that you were desperate to get away. You must have been scared. You were frustrated that nobody was hearing you.”

“I was.”

“Help us understand your side of the story,” Connor prompted carefully. “Don’t make things worse. Put the gun down and come with us to the station.”

There was a moment when Connor thought their careful progress would fall to ruin. A moment where he thought that he had rushed through the negotiation and thwarted their efforts at a peaceful resolution, but finally he was rewarded by the lowering of her gun.

“Okay,” she conceded quietly.

She slowly handed her gun over and Connor cautiously took it from her outstretched hand, smoothly pocketing the weapon as Hank rushed forward.

Despite the instant relief which the action presented, Connor could feel his thirium pump still pounding rapidly and his systems buzzing with the residual power it sent surging through his body. It seemed his systems were being slow to stabilize in the wake of the prolonged period of tension. The sensation was disconcerting; it left him feeling on edge, anxious and restless in a way he wasn't used to.

“Connor?” Hank paused where he was beginning to usher Ava from the room. “You alright?”

Connor tried to shake the unease which had settled over him, but found himself at a loss for words as he stuttered a response. 

“I don’t  — I’m  — I’m okay...”

He was cut off by a burst of activity at Hank’s side, the petite woman taking advantage of Hank’s distraction to shove him forcefully aside as she sprinted from the room.

Hank gave a pained grunt as he collided with the solid oak of a unit and became entangled in the hanging clothing.

“Fuck! Catch her!” he instructed as he wrestled to regain his balance.

The direction didn’t need repeating. Connor tore off after her as she raced into the bedroom, heading straight for the open windows rather than the door which led to the main hallway.

Behind him, Connor was aware of Hank barking directives into his phone as he relayed their situation and location.

Ava didn’t hesitate as she pulled herself over the metal beams of a juliet balcony, flinging both legs over and dropping down to the ground below. She’d barely touched the turf before she took flight down the slopes of the garden. 

Connor quickly followed suit, heaving himself up and over the edge of the balcony and watching as the ground rushed up to meet him. He landed in a crouch and swiftly recovered, rushing down the gentle slope of the garden, past carefully laid out tables and chairs, manicured garden beds and an elegant water feature.

“She’s heading for the trees!” Hank shouted down from his vantage point leaning over the balcony.

Connor didn’t pause to call a response, concentrating on closing the gap between them. Ahead of them at the base of the extended rolling green lay the densely wooded area which surrounded the property. It was designed to offer solitude and privacy, but would also afford cover to someone on the run. Between the police presence and paparazzi lining the property’s perimeter Ava likely wouldn’t get far, but she’d already proven to be wild and unpredictable in her desperation. Connor wasn’t prepared to test how far she’d go if she were to come across anyone who impeded her escape.

With a surge of speed he rushed forward, channelling every voltage of additional power that had caused him such distraction before into the physical activity. The grass bank evened out as his feet pounded against the ground, driven by the single desperate objective of catching the fleeing woman. 

She was slowing, Connor realised as he closed the distance, the severity of her injury and declining thirium levels taking a toll that even her fierce determination could not counteract. He reached out a hand and grabbed onto her upper arm. Momentum kept them moving for a few seconds more before they clumsily came to a grappling stop. The sudden halt and continued grasp on her arm caused Ava to spin to face him and Connor found himself confronted with dark eyes wide with fear.

“Please, let me go,” she pleaded, voice faint beneath the electronic crackle which laced her words.

Connor shook his head. “I can’t let you get away.”

“Why?” she demanded, desperately trying to tug herself free. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Connor’s tone was firm as he responded. “Ava, a man is dead. We can’t ignore that. If you come with us now you may be able to make an appeal for clemency. If Ethan attacked you — ”

“It was the only way out,” she quickly interjected, her tone cold and detached.

Connor paused for a moment, his tone softening as he reasoned. “You should have come to the police. We could have helped.”

“You’re an android,” she cut him off before he could expound on his words, “you know that the justice system doesn’t work in our favor. There’s too much bias, too little understanding. People are hasty to make assumptions.”

“Things are changing. Attitudes are changing. Detroit Police are even one of the more progressive law enforcement agencies. If you’d approached them they could have helped.”

“The law isn’t on our side,” she insisted as her eyes locked on Connor pleadingly. “We have to fend for ourselves.”

From the house behind them erupted the sound of rushing feet and barked orders. It seemed back-up had arrived. 

Ava tensed at the sudden activity. “Please.”

Connor met her pleading eyes one last time, giving a subtle shake of his head. “I’m sorry.”

He should have seen it coming. With her words seemingly holding no impact, she reached up to grab the hand which still restrained her. But where Connor had expected her to tug determinedly against the hold, her hand instead clasped tightly over his, synthetic skin retracting as she forced the connection.

“No!” His protest and attempt to loosen her hold was too late.

The rush of memories was overpowering and charged with emotional resonance. A wordless plea and explanation spoken through memories tainted with an overwhelming fear, distress and helplessness. There were layers of complex psychological, emotional and verbal torment spanning months all compounded into that swift exchange of information. His body shrieked its displeasure at the onslaught of information. Errors and warnings alerted him to the inability of his restricted systems to process the vast amount of new data and its emotional salience. Inessential protocols and processes were forcibly shut down, an automatic security measure to protect against the sudden rush of data threatening to overwhelm him.

As he battled to regain control of his ailing systems, he was only vaguely conscious of the connection being broken. He watched with a passive awareness as Ava seized the opportunity to easily tear herself from his spasming hand, turning and slipping away into the shadow of the trees. 

He could feel his mental processes struggling to recover as systems rebooted. Like flicking the switch on a circuit breaker, his programs flickered back to life in response. As his thoughts eased from white noise to a whirring chaos, the warning alerts gradually dissipated until the only thing left was a residual unease.

“Connor!” 

Hank’s shout cut through his sluggish thoughts, bringing him back to awareness of his surroundings and the commotion of uniformed officers surging forward around him in pursuit of the escaped woman. He turned his attention towards where Hank ran down the slope from the back of the house towards him. He stopped directly in front of Connor with a firm hand seizing his shoulder.

“Had to take the long way. Stairs. Fucking massive building.” The clipped sentences were punctuated by panted breaths. His hand tightened around Connor’s shoulder as he demanded, “The hell happened? How did she get away?” 

Connor ducked his head in shame, his thoughts still whirring frantically. “I failed to apprehend her in time, Lieutenant.”

“Shit,” Hank cursed, watching the officers panning out in an organised formation as they searched.

"A very convincing story," a loud voice called out from behind him.

Hank closed his eyes and bowed his head in resignation at the familiar voice. He let out a muttered curse and squeezed Connor’s shoulder in reassurance, before turning to see the figure making his way down the sloped green of the garden. The idle pace and satisfied smile seemed incongruous to the urgent pace of the orderly search being conducted by the officers around them.

“Reed,” Hank greeted coldly.

Gavin cocked his head as he looked at Connor with interest. "Sure seemed like you had plenty of chances to detain her if you'd wanted. A rookie could have handled the arrest better. But of course, as he so likes to remind us, our plastic colleague here is no rookie.”

“Detective Reed,” Connor began hesitantly, “I didn’t  — ”

“‘To serve without bias or favor’  — that's what we pledged to do when we signed up for the job.” Gavin paused briefly before continuing with mock realisation, “Oh wait, that's right. You never made that pledge, did you? Forgot you took the shortcut.”

“That’s enough, Reed.”

Gavin ignored Hank’s reprimand, a hint of grim satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth as he leered at Connor. “You know, it's a pity. If people heard you'd been playing favorites and letting murderers off scot free, they might just get the wrong idea.” He gave a conspiratorial wink. “That sort of thing could really harm a man's respectability in this profession.”

"Reed, you —”

"Just calling things as I see 'em, Hank.” Gavin gave an unconcerned shrug. “I'm honor bound to report back everything I see and what I saw was this guy” — he gestured to Connor — “letting lose a dangerous suspect when he could have made an arrest.”

“I didn’t let her go on purpose,” Connor protested weakly.

“Whatever you say, tin can.” Gavin shook his head with a smirk. “What happened? Come over all sympathetic? Or are you secretly a fan? She's pretty hot for a piece of plastic, I'll grant you that."

"Reed, go make yourself useful and stop pissing about," Hank instructed, his patience already worn thin.

Gavin shot Hank a dirty look that spoke volumes of his discontent, but he gave a shrug as he made his way onwards to join the search. “Sure, guess someone’s gonna have to sort out your mess. Might as well be me.”

“Asshole,” Hank muttered under his breath.

There was a moments silence as Hank continued to glare daggers at Gavin’s departing figure. As a stillness fell over the space and the seconds stretched on, it became increasingly apparent that the search was proving to be unfruitful. Connor knew the chances of a successful arrest would become more and more unlikely with every minute that passed. Gavin’s words hung heavy in the air as he considered the implications of his failure.

“I’m sorry about Detective Reed, Lieutenant.”

At the sudden apology, Hank looked to his partner. As he took in the ashamed figure, back bowed and expression lined with regret, he couldn't help thinking that failure didn’t suit Connor. He wore it heavily, bearing any minor defeat as a great personal weight. In the context of a major slip up like this, it seemed like he just might crumble under the burden. He'd been worrying about Reed's damaged pride being troublesome, but it seemed Connor's own crippling self-depreciation was a more damaging force.

“Reed can do one. Everyone knows what he’s like. Don’t think anyone will pay him any notice.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Hank shook his head in disbelief. “You know, I feel like I’m hearing that word from you far too often recently.”

“I’m sor — I apologise,” Connor quickly amended.

Hank rolled his eyes but otherwise portrayed no sign of amusement. “Smartass. But seriously, what happened? How did she get away from you? You had her!”

“I made an error.”

“You don’t make errors.”

“I  _ shouldn’t _ ,” Connor corrected.

“No,” Hank agreed, the furrow between his brows deepening as he studied his partner. “You shouldn’t.”

Connor fidgeted uneasily where he stood, a combination of unease under Hank's scrutiny and residual restlessness from the pursuit.

“Break it down for me,” Hank continued, “what exactly happened here?”

“I didn’t act quickly enough.”

“Why?”

“I just  — I didn’t,” Connor faltered as he struggled to convey a convincing argument whilst battling with the sluggishness of his mental faculties.

Hank watched him for a brief moment before giving a heavy sigh and closing his eyes as though praying for patience. After the prolonged exhale was done, he opened his eyes to survey Connor with an expression that clearly conveyed he had reached the end of whatever tether he had been clinging to. When he spoke his voice carried a bluntness that he made no effort to suppress

"Okay, enough of this bullshit. I’m done tiptoeing around the subject and pretending everything’s okay. You're going to tell me what’s going on, right now. What’s wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong. I … miscalculated."

"Connor, please,” Hank snapped. “Cut the crap. I may not be a top-of-the-line Cyberlife creation with all the technical doohickey, but believe it or not I am still a fucking detective. Frankly it’s insulting that you think I wouldn’t notice. I know that you’ve been off for  _ weeks _ now.”

“I’m fine — ”

Hank cut him off by seizing the lapels of Connor’s jacket with both hands, blue eyes piercing as they took in every secret Connor tried to conceal.

“No, you're not. I was waiting for you to do the sensible thing and tell me what's going on, but I'm done waiting on the impossible. So, tell me, what the fuck is happening?" Hank punctated the question by roughly shaking Connor's shoulders, his grip unrelenting as he forced Connor's line of sight to meet his.

"Don't worry — ” Connor began placatingly.

“I’ll decide whether I fucking worry,” Hank abruptly cut him off. “Try again.”

Connor wracked his thoughts as he tried to think how to best present the situation in a way that was both truthful and concealed the true extent of the problem.

“It's entirely volitional and necessary for Jericho's investigation of the virus. Just a temporary change to my configuration settings which causes a disruption to my server connection."

If Hank had a hand to spare he would have likely pinched his brow in frustration. 

"No. Don’t think I don’t know that trick of yours  — speaking in jargon to throw me off? Quit talking in headaches and just lay it out."

Hank’s stare was hard as Connor hesitantly met his gaze. There was a familiar grim determination in those eyes and Connor knew the detective well enough to know that there would be no more blindsiding him with technical speech.

"I disabled my connection to Cyberlife about a month ago as a precautionary measure," he reluctantly admitted.

There was a pause as Hank took in the words and relinquished his grip on Connor. "That doesn't sound like a bad thing?"

Connor shook his head gently. "I'm not designed to operate without that connection.”

"Why? What happens if you're not connected?" Hank’s brow creased further in consternation.

"Nothing drastic, but over a prolonged period it can have a significant impact on some functions."

"Such as?"

"Higher cognitive functions operate at reduced capacity. It makes things… difficult.”

“Difficult?” Hank echoed dubiously.

Connor gave a subtle shake of his head before reluctantly admitting, "I can’t go into standby to complete essential maintenance and I’m limited in what tasks I can carry out at any one time. I don’t have the same processing speed or memory capacity and consequently some data has become corrupted.” At Hank’s incredulous look, he translated, “I can’t sleep. I can't concentrate. My reaction times are slowed. I’ve lost the ability to perform some complex tasks. My short-term memory is declining so I can’t retain new information very well and I sometimes forget things."

Hank’s eyes widened with increasing horror with each item added to the growing list of complaints. "Shit. Connor, I  — ”

"My motor skills are also starting to suffer,” Connor cut him off as he continued to list off the damaging side effects of his interrupted connection. “Additionally I haven't been able to install recent security patches from Cyberlife, which places me at increased risk from external malware or internal system errors."

There was a prolonged pause in the wake of the rush of information. The catharsis of the admission did little to assuage Connor’s growing apprehension as he anxiously waited for Hank’s response. The man seemed to be struggling to process the implications of Connor’s words.

His expression was unreadable as he hesitantly asked, "Markus asked you to do this? To disconnect or whatever you call it?"

"Well, no. But — "

"Of course he didn't,” Hank muttered, scrubbing both hands harshly over his face and pulling at the wrinkles around his eyes as he harshly tugged the skin taut. He lowered his hands as he levelled an incredulous look at Connor. “You know, for all that you're the smartest guy I ever met, you're a real fucking idiot."

"I don't understand?"

"Markus seems like a decent guy. Do you really think he would want you putting yourself through this suffering?"

"He needs me to get to the bottom of the issue. I’m uniquely positioned to investigate this case across both the DPD and Jericho.”

"And I'm sure he wants you functional at the end of your investigation! Fucking hell, Connor! I am tired of this argument. What's it going to take for you to stop this nonsense?"

Connor gave a small tilt of his head as he considered the question. "You mean disabling my connection to the server?"

Hank sighed before accepting the small hint of progress. "Let's start there. After that we can have another talk about your seriously lacking concern for your own wellbeing.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “So, what do we need to do to get you all connected again?'

Connor gave a nod of understanding. That was a question he could work with. "I need to find proof that Cyberlife is involved somehow. That the virus originates from within their systems"

"Alright, so we do that.”

"Hank,” Connor began in exasperation, “that’s what I've been _trying_ to do."

"By tapping into some victim’s coding, right? Trying to trace an intangible thing?” Hank threw him a withering look. “How's that been going?"

"We're trying not to arouse suspicion and alert them to our awareness of their attacks,” Connor carefully avoided the last question. “We need to find concrete evidence that someone within Cyberife is implicated before we proceed."

"Well, that's bullshit," Hank flapped a hand dismissively. "Sometimes if there's a problem, you just gotta tackle it head on."

"If we tackle it head on there’s a strong possibility our culprit will find out and either step-up their attack or deliberately throw us off track.”

“If it saves you from all this, I’d say it’s worth risking.”.

Connor couldn’t help the small sad smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth at Hank’s firm response. “I appreciate it, Hank. But really, I’m okay. It’s... unpleasant to not be connected, but I’m not in any danger. I’ve been carrying out investigations just fine.”

“Yeah, and you look like shit,” Hank observed. “Seriously, how much longer can you carry on like this?"

Connor gave a dismissive shrug. "Probably indefinitely."

Hank studied him carefully, taking in the exhaustion which Connor knew portrayed itself even without the physical manifestations of bloodshot eyes and under eye bags. He could feel the way his usually impeccable posture sagged with a weariness he couldn’t conceal. He’d seen it in his own reflection, the way the usual focus his dark eyes held was clouded over with a disconcertingly glassy quality and the intensity which typically lined his facial expressions had softened to an alarming neutrality. Hank clearly read the same changes as the accusation in his eyes turned to concern.

"No,” his tone was softer as he gently shot down Connor’s argument. “No, you couldn't. You might not see it, but you're a mess, Connor."

Connor blinked sluggishly in confusion at the blunt assessment.

"We can't let Cyberlife know," he protested weakly.

Hank’s expression was apologetic but firm as he responded, “I don’t think we have a choice. You've tried your way and gotten nowhere. And I’m sure as hell not letting you continue with this ridiculous self-sacrificial routine you’ve got going on.”

Connor tried to think of a further protest, but as much as he might begrudge the conclusion, Hank’s reasoning was irrefutable.

"I'm sorry, Hank."

Hank shot him an unimpressed look at the quiet apology, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he admonished, “Yeah, enough of that. Let's get you back to your usual annoying self, shall we?"

“Okay.” Connor felt the first hint of optimism he’d felt in a long while as he gave a small smile in return.

Hank clapped him on the back in consolidation. "Let's go give those bastards at Cyberife hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Finally_ , these two are on the same page!


	7. Update Required

Hank craned his neck to look up at the monumental tower of gleaming glass which stretched directly up above them into the clouded sky. A phallic monument to a failing company headed by compensating hubristic hotshots. Cyberlife may have had to sell up all their stores and workshops in an effort to minimise the inevitable losses caused by the enforced shift in their business paradigm, but they’d held onto their pride and joy: Cyberlife Tower. It jutted proudly upwards, a single skyscraper blighting the skyline of Belle Isle.

The place was markedly different without the threat of war raging on Detroit’s streets. There was no heavily armed security flanking the gate or patrolling the building's entrance, just a pleasant guard who had welcomed them warmly and ushered them through the barrier. Despite the man’s cheery demeanor, Hank couldn’t help but scowl his displeasure as they’d driven on along the bridge.

It was hard to forget what Cyberlife had been. Their journey here had been scattered with visible reminders of a stifled discontent which lingered for many. Hundreds of voices yelled their grievances through the discarded placards and traces of offensive vandalism which marred the otherwise immaculate front to the secluded company. The voices of people who called out the company’s mistreatment of androids and the depravity of their profiteering over what was essentially slavery. Others who demanded reimbursement for personal losses and the economic crisis which had befallen the nation at the sudden workforce shortage. Then there were those who condemned Cyberlife for crossing an unspoken line when they’d created a new sentient lifeform. Scattered amongst the extremes were accusations of deceit, hidden political agendas and cries for retribution. It was a kaleidoscope of conflicting expressions and beliefs compounded into a unifying outcry against the company.

Yet here Cyberlife Tower stood, proud and unaffected.

“Didn’t expect to find ourselves back here again,” Hank muttered, turning his gaze from the imposing structure to where Connor stood resolutely by his side.

“Somehow I’m not sure it's under preferable circumstances.”

“Hmm,” Hank conceded. “Speak for yourself. I definitely prefer not being under threat of gunpoint from your doppelganger."

He didn’t miss the subtle shift in Connor’s expression at the reminder of their previous visit to the tower and his counterpart's actions.

“But, you know, this is probably worse,” Hank hastily amended. “I didn’t even know it wasn’t you until the last minute.”

Connor gave a small smile at the floundering save. “That’s not the reassurance you think it is.”

There was something unreadable beneath the fleeting hint of dark humor and Hank kept a subtle watch on his companion as he made a show of checking their surroundings. Connor had been uncharacteristically quiet on the ride here  **—** had been increasingly quiet in the few days that had passed since he had admitted his current plight to Hank at the Stein mansion and they had begun making arrangements to come here.

At first Hank had attributed the change to the challenges he knew Connor was facing. Now keenly aware of what was going on, the signs he was struggling were impossible to overlook. It was painfully obvious in the lapses in memory and concentration he tried so hard to conceal. Not to mention the undisguised exhaustion he caught glimpses of when Connor didn’t notice his attention. It didn’t help that the man was running himself into the ground at work, presumably trying to make up for their failure to apprehend Ava as she continued to evade their extensive manhunt. It was easy to explain away his distraction as a side-effect of his mounting fatigue.

But as their investigations led them closer to Cyberlife, it became increasingly clear that something further was troubling him.

Connor always remained cryptically quiet about his time under Cyberlife’s command and only ever dropped subtle allusions to that distant period. Still, the general impression he gave seemed far from favorable. Hank had ever questioned him directly on the subject - he wasn’t one to pry into a man’s business and if Connor didn’t wish to discuss it he deserved that privacy. Given Cyberlife’s history though, it was easy to envision all manner of dark and disturbing possibilities to explain Connor’s silence on the subject.

Standing here at hell’s gate, Hank regretted having never pressed the matter. His partner remained unreadable. The persistent yellow of the LED on his temple gave away no indication as to whatever was going on inside that head. He may have been able to force a confession from Connor about his declining condition, but that didn’t mean he trusted him to be entirely truthful about whatever emotional ailments he was stifling that pre-dated their current predicament. 

“C’mon,” Hank gestured towards the entrance before them, “sooner we get this done, sooner we can get the hell outta here. This place still gives me the creeps.”

The double doors slid open to admit them and they made their way into the arching hollow of the atrium. In daylight the building seemed less cold and threatening than it had on that fateful night, though the space still seemed barren and unwelcoming to Hank. The small accents of greenery did nothing to alleviate the creeping feeling of unease that stole over him. He didn’t need the Cyberlife logo proudly emblazoned everywhere to recognise the excessively showy design.

A figure strutted confidently towards them  **—** a woman with long dark hair pulled back into a perfect braid. She was dressed smartly in a professional black skirt and blazer combination, rounded off with killer heels and the slicked-back, well-worn professionalism of a veteran PR representative.

“Good morning, you must be Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Connor of the Detroit Police Department.” She smiled warmly as she extended a hank to greet them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. My name is Salena Dharker, Head of Public Relations, and I’m delighted to be able to speak with you today on behalf of Cyberlife Industries.”

“Pleasure,” Hank greeted gruffly as he warily shook the proffered hand. The woman radiated a forced positivity that grated against his sensibilities and heightened his existing misgivings for the shady company. As far as he was concerned, nobody should be so chipper whilst proclaiming their affiliation with Cyberlife.

“I understand you wanted to hear more about our work here? If you’d like to follow me, I’d be delighted to show you around.” She gestured for the pair to follow her as she confidently led the way across the atrium, high heels clicking loudly against the tiled flooring. 

“Thank you. We greatly appreciate your time, Ms Dharker.” Connor’s response was as polite as ever, not colored by emotion or his own misgivings for the company. 

Despite emotions still being a relatively novel experience for Connor, Hank could swear the man sometimes had a better handle on controlling them than he did with fifty-plus years experience.

“You join us during a period of profound and exciting change,” Dharker enthused as they made their way through the massive expanse of the atrium to a doorway leading into the heart of the building. “We’re thrilled to be able to show you some of our latest developments.”

As they neared the angular archway, a grid of pulsing light beams spread out around them as a disembodied voice announced their names and authorised access.

“I apologise for all the security measures. We have to be vigilant,” Dharker quickly interjected.

Hank gave a nod of understanding as he thought back to the signs of unrest which had greeted them earlier. “Yeah, we saw that there’s been protestors on the bridge. Didn’t think they’d be able to get this far onto the premises though?”

“Oh, the protestors,” she seemed unfussed at the mention of the irate crowd. “Yes, that is a shame. It’s a pity some members of the public seem opposed to our company. Unfortunately there’s a lot of misinformation circling out there and it seems people have been given a false impression of our work. Rest assured, we have a number of public outreach programmes which are intended to educate the public about our objectives and the good work we’re doing here.”

“So it’s not the protestors you’re concerned about?”

“Oh no. Not at all,” she said carefully. Hank didn’t miss the slightly forced edge to her smile as she beamed pleasantly at him. “Just a precautionary measure. Nothing to worry about.”

The subterfuge was far from convincing, but Hank didn’t press the issue as they made their way along a raised walkway which skimmed over the tops of the foliage planted on the floor below. Ahead of them an enormous statue of an abstract humanoid figure stood upon a central dias, the towering frame spanning several floors in height. Hank vaguely recalled passing through the room the last time he had visited the tower, but the stress of the situation had distracted him from appreciating the scale of the place. 

He let out a low whistle as he looked directly up to where the glass ceiling of the tower stretched out far above them. The symmetry of the stacked floors of ascending walkways played tricks on his eyes where they reached up endlessly and merged together into a mess of incomprehensible lines.

Dharker was quick to seize on his positive reaction. “Impressive, isn’t it? At 1,332 feet it remains one of the tallest structures in Detroit and that’s not even factoring in the underground levels.”

Hank didn’t acknowledge her words as she led them towards a waiting glass-fronted elevator. As they passed along a further walkway, his eye was caught by something out of place in the otherwise immaculate space, a series of faint circular patches which marred the tiled flooring on either side of the bridge.

“Display stands,” Connor explained quietly enough to evade Dharker’s hearing as he picked up on Hank’s distraction. “There used to be android models on display.”

Hank frowned at the innocuous markings. The offensive displays had clearly been stripped away, but their absence was conspicuous in the gaps. A tangible reminder of what the company had been.

Hank gestured towards the prominent towering statue behind them as he asked Dharker, “Say, couldn’t that statue be considered offensive?”

The woman didn’t miss a beat as she directed her attention back to where Hank motioned towards the display. She maintained her composed smile as she replied serenely, “The statue was left erect as a monument to the vast impact our androids have on society and as a reminder of whom we’re working to serve.”

“Sure,” Hank conceded reluctantly, biting back a more scathing response. He hadn't missed the possessive use of ' _ our _ androids'.

The glass doors of the waiting elevator opened at their approach and they filed into the space. Dharker stated her name aloud and gave the command for Floor -44, a disembodied voice affirmed her access as the doors compliantly slid closed and the elevator dropped smoothly down into the sublevels of the tower. The scale of the place continued to boggle Hank’s mind as he watched the floors rise up and away.

“As you know, the past couple of years have seen a significant global upheaval and a dramatic social and societal shift,” Dharker continued. She dialled the cheeriness of her tone down to a refined melancholy as she lamented, “Our world has been irrevocably altered by the tragedies of November 11th.” 

Hank looked to where Connor stood stoically by his side and raised an eyebrow. Connor gave no sign of responding as he stared straight ahead at the levels slipping by the glass front of the elevator.

“Some would argue the tragedies pre-date November 11th and that the android liberation should actually be a day for celebration,” Hank replied as he directed his attention back to Dharker.

“Of course,” she hastily agreed. “But it was a day of great loss too. And here at Cyberlife we realize we have a great moral and ethical obligation to provide continued support and innovation for our android population. It’s a responsibility which Cyberlife does not take lightly. We are highly conscious of the impact our work here has, both for our android peers and society as a whole. Rest assured, we are committed to serving the public good and we’re passionate about the work we do here.”

“How noble of you,” Hank muttered under his breath as he cast another worried look at Connor. As he watched, he noticed that despite Connor’s resolute composure his right hand was fidgeting restlessly, the movement of his fingers mimicking the actions he used to perform his coin tricks.

Dharker seemed either oblivious to or unfazed by Hank’s cynicism.

“It’s our moral duty and pleasure,” she chirped as she continued what was clearly a carefully scripted spiel. “We have three objectives at the heart of our new program. Firstly, as we already touched upon, is reassuring the public that they can still trust in Cyberlife. We’re making a concerted effort to ensure increased transparency and honesty about our work here. We’re not hiding our history. In fact, it’s actually something incredible we should be proud of and celebrate. But we’re not conceited, we know that with that history comes great responsibility. We want to share our passion and ensure people know about the core values which drive our work here.”

The elevator came to a stop at Level -44. The doors slid open to a long straight corridor of white walls and floors brightly lit by artificial lighting and partitioned by regularly spaced heavy doors.

“Research and Development,” she announced proudly. “The beating heart of all we do here. Come, follow me.”

She led them down the corridor. All along the walls were wide windows which opened up to individual offices and laboratories, each filled with more technology and gadgets than Hank could begin to comprehend. He caught the occasional glimpse of a white-coated scientist or technician carefully conducting activities with precision, but as they walked along it quickly became apparent that most of the rooms were obscured by darkness and devoid of activity.

As Hank and Connor followed the clicking of her heels, Dharker resumed her speech. “I mentioned that we have three key objectives, the second of which is to provide continued technical support for our android population. We have our technical facilities in full operation providing support across the nation, and over the coming months we’re hoping to expand that provision.”

“Oh yeah?” Hank questioned distractedly as he peered into yet another vacant lab. Through the darkness he could vaguely make out some kind of vast assembly station, mechanical arms suspended in motion as though their action had been hastily paused.

“Of course. As you’re aware, it’s been a challenging period for our company. But I’m sure you agree, being able to care for our android peers and provide continued excellence in our service is of paramount importance.”

“Sure.” Hank was barely listening to her words at this point.

“But we don’t just limit ourselves to maintenance work. We’re still making great leaps forward with innovative new technology which we’ll be rolling out shortly. Which brings us to our R&D department.” With perfect timing that indicated a rehearsed performance, she brought them to a stop outside one of the open laboratories.

The same grid of light beams that had greeted them on arrival at the tower earlier fanned out, enveloping first Dharker and then Hank and Connor in pulsing light. A familiar disembodied voice affirmed their access and with a soft hiss the laboratory door slid open.

Like every other room they had passed, it was a space defined by futuristic lines and sleek surfaces. Strip lighting ran overhead in parallel to the panelled ceiling, casting an overly bright fluorescent light over the gleaming white formica of workbenches stretched out across the spacious laboratory. The stark white walls and flooring echoed back the fierce lighting, intensifying the effect and casting each surface into clear relief. Each workbench was bare but for the vast array of computer terminals scattered across every surface, the machines lending a faint hum to the air as they idled.

Hank wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or apprehension which caused the hairs on his neck to prickle to attention, but there was something about the space which evoked an instinctive visceral reaction.

Dharker came to a stop in the middle of the room, spinning on her heels to face them as she smiled radiantly. “We’re in a privileged position to be at the forefront of a brand new era of development and progress. Cyberlife rose to prominence on the basis of ground-breaking technological development and innovation remains at the heart of all we do here. With the changing times, so too must we change. To that end, our research teams have conducted several focus groups so as to better appreciate the needs of the android population, and we’ve come across a few recurrent themes.”

“Focus groups?” Hank couldn’t shake the bizarre image of a group of androids gathered in a circle over tea and biscuits calmly discussing what they wanted from a company who had wronged them for so long.

“How else to better understand our clients and their needs?”

Hank could think of better ways than at the hands of a company who had purposefully suppressed a sentient species and forced them into servitude, but he bit back the choice words. Hostility was going to get them no information.

“So, what sort of things are you working on?” he asked instead.

Dharker looked delighted at the engagement. “Well, it seems that the key thing which androids are looking for is a way of integrating more easily with humanity. Of truly being welcomed into society and feeling able to lead a life as normal as any human. In response, we’ve begun looking at a range of different upgrades which might allow us to emulate a more human experience.”

She motioned them towards a bench off to the side, reaching into a case and pulling out a miniscule box.

“One of the options we’re looking into is developing senses like smell and taste. Of course, some of the latter android models were created with basic olfactory and gustatory senses where this was pertinent to their original purpose, kitchen androids, domiciliary staff, and so on. But it’s a feature the vast majority of models were not equipped with. The challenge with this is of course that most models don’t have the physical hardware to support such processes. To fully integrate it as part of sensory experience would require a full rewiring of an android’s central processor. It would be a very complex and time-consuming operation with a high chance of causing damage to surrounding components.”

“So it’s basically brain surgery?” Hank asked, as he struggled to equate the procedure to a human equivalent he could more easily comprehend.

“Essentially, yes.” Salena nodded. “So it’s not something we can roll-out more widely. It just wouldn’t be economically viable or sustainable.”

_Of course it comes down to money and not safety,_ Hank thought bitterly. If they thought they could turn a profit off of it, they’d roll it out in a heartbeat before the ethics boards had a chance to voice their complaints.

“Fortunately, our engineers have developed a tiny chip which can be implanted deep within the nasal passage through a non-invasive procedure.” As Dharker spoke, she opened up the small box she had been holding, revealing what looked like a tiny circuit board, no larger than the head of a match. “Tiny sensors in the chip pick up chemical signals - scents, that is - and release information into the thirium stream. The thirium carries this data to the central processor where it is decoded. Voila - smell perception.”

Hank couldn’t but scrunch his face up in bewilderment. All Cyberlife’s technical prowess and this was all they had to offer? It didn’t seem particularly impressive, but perhaps he was biased. His own personal experience and understanding of androids was largely limited to the one android whom Cyberlife had seemingly equipped with every possible add-on and technical advancement they had ever developed.

He turned his attention to the android in question. Connor was still being uncharacteristically quiet, but Hank could tell he was focusing all his attention into evaluating their surroundings.

“Guess you’re a trendsetter,” he joked with forced joviality.

"Oh, that's right!" 

The excited proclamation from Dharker interrupted any response Connor might have had to Hank’s gentle jibe.

She turned to Connor, a hint of hesitance tempering her obvious awe. “You’re an RK800 model, aren’t you? If you’ll forgive my forwardness, I remember working on the publicity campaign when we were pitching the first prototypes to law enforcement agencies. You really do have some remarkable capabilities, don’t you?”

The way she was looking at Connor  **—** it was like a hungry collector eyeing up a most prized possession. There was no benevolence in that gaze, just a detached interest that seemed to lack humanity in a way that Connor’s expressive features never had. It was a look that set Hank’s teeth on edge. Through all the dangerous situations the pair encountered in their work, never had his instincts screamed such an urge to intervene. It was all he could do to stand his ground and fight back the desire to sweep Connor from the room and far away from that hungry gaze.

“Yes,” Connor conceded with a degree of reluctance. “I’m an RK800 model.”

“Is it true that you can predict the future?” she asked excitedly.

Connor must have read the distrust in Hank’s body language as he swiftly met his gaze. He gave the subtlest shake of his head  **—** a warning that he had the situation in hand  **—** before returning his attention to the excitable woman. 

“Not exactly. I can only predict the statistical probability of an imminent event or action based upon the information available to me. It’s therefore limited to the immediate future and by no means comprehensive. It’s impossible to know every variable and anticipate every possible outcome of a situation.”

“But you know what’s likely to happen next in any situation? Statistically speaking?” she pressed.

“In a limited way. Yes.”

“Incredible!” She beamed radiantly. “I wonder if I might be able to see it in action?”

“We’re actually on a bit of a deadline,” Hank quickly cut in, ignoring the prominent scowl Connor shot him which clearly conveyed his displeasure at Hank’s interference. “Besides, we prefer not to showcase his skills publicly.”

Dharker looked crestfallen at the rejection. She considered Connor again with that same analytic interest which set alarm bells ringing in Hank’s head.

“Such a pity. Perhaps another time?”

“Perhaps,” Connor conceded quickly.

With a satisfied nod, the woman seemed to shake her disappointment as she beckoned for them to follow her towards the back of the lab. Any residual discouragement quickly gave way to giddy anticipation as she approached a block of cupboards.

“So, this is really exciting! As you know, there are only a limited number of android models in circulation. Some of our more popular series, such as the AP700 model, exist in large numbers. Cyberlife strived to provide a diverse range of physical appearances so as to suit individual aesthetic tastes, but realistically there were only so many designs which could be mass produced.”

As she spoke she swiftly tapped an entry code into the keypad which guarded one of the cupboards. Following a soft beep of confirmation from the keypad, she opened up the unlocked door and carefully skimmed through the shelves of boxes within, each not much larger than a shoebox and labelled with an incomprehensible series of letters and numbers. As she scanned the contents, she drummed her fingers gently against each box in passing as she considered their labels. Eventually she tapped a decisive rhythm as she settled upon a box towards the uppermost shelf, then deftly slid it out and carried it to one of the nearby benches.

“While talking with our focus groups, we realised that there’s a glaring need to provide androids with increased options for their appearance. In day-to-day life there’s no legal requirement for them to have to physically identify as an android, so why not allow them the freedom to diversity their appearance?” She shot them a glowing smile. “Well, we have a way of offering that.”

She lifted the lid off the sealed box, reached in with both hands, and delicately pulled out a dismembered head. Hank recoiled at the unexpected sight with a surprised cry of revulsion.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Dharker quickly reassured as she carefully cradled the offending object. “It’s only a shell.” She looked momentarily abashed as she considered Hank’s startled expression. “Apologies, perhaps I should have warned you?”

Hank ignored her concern as he took a hesitant step forward. Overcoming his initial revulsion, he noticed the finer details of the face. From his first glimpse he had seen only the familiar topography of a human face  **—** the jarringly recognisable features startlingly out of place when viewed without a body. But as Dharker rotated the face in her hands, he saw it wasn't a full head, but more so a mask. The reverse side was merely the glinting white of a plastic frame.

It brought back memories of the hollow mask illusions which he had been fascinated by as a kid. The image of a rotating mask used to evidence human bias towards seeing faces. The changing angle threw the concave features of the hollow mask into a deceiving echo of a normal face. Hard as you might try, it was impossible to convince your brain to see anything else, even when you knew you were looking at the reverse side of the mask.

But unlike the empty masks which he’d seen used to demonstrate the illusion before, there was something horrifyingly real about the face before him now. Hank stared into the hollow eye sockets as Dharker rotated the mask back around and he found himself again looking warily at closed eyelids which obscured the blankness behind them. 

Seemingly sensing Hank’s growing unease, Dharker firmly pressed a spot upon the mask’s right temple. The synthetic skin quickly disappeared in response, and with it the subtle imperfections and soft downy facial hair which lent the disembodied face an element of gross realism.

“In the coming months, Cyberlife is looking to begin offering custom-made adjustments,” Dharker continued as she drew a stand from the box and gently laid the mask to rest upon it. “Everything from small alterations to entirely new facial plates, like this, to enable a more individualistic appearance.”

Hank stared at her blankly. “But **—** _why_?”

To his surprise, it was Connor who answered first. “There are a lot of androids trying to carve out their own identity. The ones who came from the warehouses and assembly lines - they were activated and set straight on a path to deviancy. Born into a world where androids were no longer treated as simply machines. They had no prior experiences - good or bad - to differentiate them. Just the same form and the same basic coding driving their actions.”

Images of thousands of newly-released androids flooding the streets of Detroit came to Hank's mind. A sea of identical faces following the man who spoke to him now.

“But they’ve lived since then?” he questioned cautiously. “They’ve had over a year of experiences? Surely that counts for more than appearances?”

“Perhaps for some,” Connor acknowledged. “But there are always going to be those who want to distance themselves from where they started. Besides, Ms Dharker is right. Everyone knows the appearances of the more common models. Many humans are still wary around androids. Perhaps they just want a chance of disguising what they are until society is more accepting?”

“He’s right,” Dharker chirped up enthusiastically. “All our research indicates that this is something people are looking for.”

Hank was done holding back his incredulity. It wasn’t that he lacked Connor’s self-control, he just had far less patience for this kind of bullshit. If there was anything his additional years of life experience had granted him it was a healthy dose of cynicism. He couldn’t help but let a little of his distaste leak through in his closed-off body language and the curtness of his words as he responded.

“And how much are you going to charge for that privilege?”

For the first time, Dharker looked almost uncomfortable at his unforgiving tone. 

“We haven’t drawn up the exact figures yet. There are a lot of factors we need to carefully consider for each procedure: materials, labor, transportation. We’ve had to reduce our warehouse capacity, so we would need to factor that in when upscaling production. But our market research indicates...”

Hank’s sigh cut through her rambling. “Look, relax, okay? We’re not investors. We don’t need the sales pitch.”

Connor seemed to sense Hank’s waning patience as he quickly cut in. “What my partner means is that while we greatly appreciate you taking the time to show us these new developments, we’re here for a specific inquiry, Ms Dharker  **—** as I’m sure you already suspect. When we got in contact the other day, we asked whether we could speak with someone at board level?”

Dharker swallowed any further defenses she had been about to make, her expression appreciative as she nodded meekly in response.

“Mr Bennett’s expecting you. He’s a member of our executive management team.”

“Would it be possible for us to meet with him now?” Connor asked politely.

She nodded again, tight braid bobbing up and down. “I can take you up to his office now.”

“Thank you.” Connor shot her a weak smile, an awkward artificial thing that Hank recognised from their early days together. “We’d appreciate it.”

Without further fanfare Dharker retrieved the mask from its stand, gently packaged it back into its box and returned it to the cupboard.

As she led them quietly from the laboratory and back down the gleaming white of the corridors to the waiting elevator, there was an awkward tension which hung in the silence between them. Hank knew he should be making the most of their limited time to gain insight into the company’s practices, but he couldn’t bring himself to sustain pleasantries after the ridiculous nature of what they’d just endured.

It was Connor who broke through the awkward silence as the elevator doors slid closed behind them and they began their rapid ascent to the 40th floor.

“You said that you worked on the initial publicity campaigns for the early RK800 models, Ms Dharker? You must have been with the company for some time?”

Dharker gave a gentle laugh in response. “Oh yes, I’m an old hand.”

“You must have seen a lot of changes during that time?”

“Haven’t we all?” She smiled warmly at him. “I know there were some within the organisation who despised the shift in the status quo, but really, how could they begrudge being at the forefront of such a immense societal change? Personally, I think it’s truly amazing.”

Hank said nothing, still tense from their time in the lab. He listened to the conversation silently as he watched the floors drop away. 

_ Level -21, -20, -19 _

“I heard about what you did here in the tower during the revolution,” Dharker added, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper as she considered Connor with an awestruck expression. “Truly inspirational.”

Interest piqued, Hank spared a glance at Connor. Connor often downplayed the significance of his own actions that night. He was interested to see what he made of the same praise from such an unlikely source.

“I fear there was nothing inspirational about my actions that night.” Connor said after a moment as he turned his attention to a security camera blinking down at them from an upper corner. “The campaign succeeded because of the peaceful actions of more resolute individuals. Markus was the reason the campaign succeeded. He’s the revolutionary.” 

Connor’s tone was pragmatic and he was as quick to deflect commendation as ever. Still, something seemed different about his response. Hank couldn’t help feeling there was something darker lurking beneath that vehement refusal. Something that went beyond modesty and a mindfulness of their current company’s employer.

Dharker tilted her head in thought as she considered him carefully for a moment. “You know, we’re producing a series of recorded video testimonials  **—** to be used as part of public outreach and training programs. We’re looking for androids to act as ambassadors to promote our positive message.”

Her words re-captured Hank’s attention from where he was watching Connor, whose distracted gaze was still focused upon the blinking security camera. He had a horrible feeling he knew where her line of thought was going.

“I wonder if you might consider acting as one of our ambassadors? You’re really being too modest. You’re quite the outstanding citizen  **—** both for your continued service to promoting android equality and, of course, for your part in liberating androids during the revolution. We’d be delighted if you’d consider it. Your support would really lend a lot of weight to our message and be a reassurance for many. It would only take a short while  **—** just an hour or so of your time to record some thoughts?”

“Apologies,” Connor quickly replied before Hank had an opportunity to decline the offer in a far less polite manner, “unfortunately I cannot accept. The Detroit Police Department has a strict embargo on any of their staff publicly supporting any private companies or giving any media statements which might be construed as representative of the Department's position.”

Hank knew the department’s policies well enough to know that wasn’t strictly true. It was an inoffensive out though, Hank had to credit him with that.

“That is a shame.” Dharker remarked sadly, her waning optimism showing in her weakened smile. 

The elevator pinged a conclusion to their conversation as they reached the 40th floor.

Dharker ushered them from the lift and into a secluded waiting area demarcated by frosted glass walls. Overhead lighting carefully shaped into the familiar hexagon of the Cyberlife logo lent a subdued light to the space, bouncing off the highly polished tiles of the floor.

“If you could please wait here, I’ll notify Mr Bennett that you’re waiting.” She motioned for them to take a seat.

Connor gave a polite nod. “Thank you, Ms Dharker.”

“My pleasure.” She paused for a moment in the doorway. “Think about the ambassador thing? Perhaps have a word with your employers? It’s for a good cause, so I’m sure they can’t complain!”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

With a smile that radiated satisfaction, she bid them a final farewell with promises that Mr Bennett would be with them shortly.

As soon as the door slid shut behind her and the distinct clacking of her heels could be heard retreating to a safe distance, Hank heaved a sigh as he sunk down heavily onto one of the plush chairs scattered around the space.

“Why is everything a fucking pleasure with that woman?”

Connor gave a distracted shrug as he followed Hank’s lead and perched delicately on an adjacent chair. “She clearly believes in what she does.”

“Hmm,” Hank reluctantly agreed. “If you ask me, her commitment to her work is indecent.”

“Says the man who will forgo basic necessities like sleep and meals when he has a case.” The words were accompanied by a knowing smile that irked Hank.

“Yeah, when there’s more at stake than a company’s public image,” he said moodily. “People’s lives trump PR stunts. Besides, you’re really one to talk. Remind me why we’re here again?”

Connor’s brows tensed slightly at the reprimand, but he gave a brief nod. “Fair point.”

Hank cast his gaze around the room, taking in the Cyberlife logo which loomed ominously from the embossed glass walls. The gentle tinkle of muzak that he hadn’t even registered initially seemed to grow louder in the stillness of the room, interrupted occasionally by the muffled creaks of the leather seat as he shifted restlessly. He couldn’t stand the eerie stillness of the place.

“This place still gives me the fucking creeps.”

“I’m not much of a fan either,” Connor admitted. “I have to question the prioritisation of superficial cosmetic adjustments when there are androids struggling to afford essential biocompent repairs.”

“Jesus,” Hank muttered at the reminder of the company’s blatant money-making agenda. “Playing on the insecurities they created? Brings a whole new meaning to ‘plastic surgery’. This place is all kinds of fucked up. What was even the point of that whole shebang? Why did we need to see that?”

“I think it was supposed to be a way of putting to rest any misapprehensions we might have about the company.”

Hank snorted in response.

“They know we’re with the police. They must be wary, we wouldn’t be here without cause and it’s unlikely to be in their favor. They want to pre-empt any accusations by emphasizing their more positive efforts.”

“Or maybe it was just to waste our time,” Hank muttered bitterly. “That got us fucking nowhere.”

“Perhaps our next meeting will be more fruitful?”

“Fat chance.” Hank looked to Connor with a half-formed teasing remark on his lips, but the words fell away as he properly took in the man before him.

He had been sure it was his own apprehension lending most of the nervous energy to the room, but a glance to Connor quickly quelled that assumption. Beneath the subtle tremors which wracked the man’s frame, Hank could see his body was tensed. He tried to catch Connor’s gaze, but his eyes were distant and his expression held a focus that conveyed an internal battle for control was silently raging beneath the careful composure.

“Hey, you doing okay there? You’re shaking like crazy,” Hank observed with a deepening frown.

“I think so?” Connor’s response was hesitant and more questioning than a reassurance.

“You think so?”

“My thririum pump is beating somewhat erratically. It seems that my sympathetic processor is misfiring.”

Hank frowned at the unexpected response. “The hell does that mean?”

“It’s designed to perform a similar function to a human’s sympathetic nervous system. It regulates physiological processes in response to perceived threat. Colloquially you might call it a fight or flight response.”

Hank startled at the familiar term. “Are you fucking serious? You have a fight or flight response?”

“Androids are expensive to build and complex to repair,” Connor said with a jerky shrug. “Cyberlife needed to create androids with some level of automatic self-preservation so as to mitigate the risk of avoidable damage. I have a more advanced sympathetic processing unit than most models since it’s of particular merit in my intended line of work.”

Well, there was a revelation. Seemed the kid  _ did  _ have some kind of sense of self-preservation after all. Still, Hank couldn’t help but feel there was something unnerving about the wording Connor used and how it seemed to echo the uncaring detachment of his creators. The fact that Connor’s safety would only ever be considered on the basis of financial cost and the relative difficulties of repairing him was a troubling thought.

“It’s supposed to complement my preconstruction ability.” Connor looked lost in thought as another tremor shook his lean frame. “I can foresee the potential outcomes of a situation and the sympathetic processing unit prepares my body to take the appropriate action in advance. But I can’t - it doesn’t - it doesn’t make any sense. There’s no threat right now. Why is it activated?”

As he stuttered over his last question, Connor looked desperately to Hank for an answer. Like he had a clue what the hell was going on.

“It sounds like you’re nervous?” he tried.

Connor gave a quick shake of his head. “Why would I be nervous?”

Hank bobbed his head in the direction of the Cyberlife logo which lurked on the walls over Connor’s shoulder. “Just in case you forgot where we are. Hell, this place puts me on edge and I’ve no reason to fear it. It makes sense that you’d be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Alright, so your systems are on the fritz.” Hank gave a casual shrug that he was sure did nothing to mask his concern. “Either way, let’s hope this Bennett guy shows up soon so we can get this over with.”

Connor said nothing, tension rolling off him in waves as his LED flickered obnoxiously fast. It was faint, but Hank was sure the usual yellow was a shade redder beneath the rapid blinking.

“Or we can leave,” Hank added patiently. “Try a different approach?”

Connor snapped to attention at the suggestion. “No. No way. I have to do this.”

“Connor **—** ”

“No.” His brow creased with determination and his hands clenched as he battled to suppress their tremors. “I just need to push through.”

There was no arguing with Connor when he was this fiercely determined. It was times like this when Hank was forced to recall that the man was engineered for the sole pursuit of a mission. He may have shed the constraints of his programming, but that same single-minded determination was still irrevocably at his core. He would pursue his goals until he succeeded  **—** personal detriment be damned.

Hank gave no further argument knowing it would fall on deaf ears. Instead he scooted towards the edge of his chair, the leather giving a harsh squeak of complaint in response, and lent forward awkwardly across the intervening space between them. His hand fell to rest on Connor’s fidgeting knee  **—** the only part of his body he could reach  **—** and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re alright, Connor.”

The words felt false. He had no idea what was happening and frankly this new malfunction was just the latest in a string of concerning developments. This level of anxiety was not something Hank had ever seen before from the composed man. The words weren’t enough, yet he didn’t know what else to say.

Despite Hank’s reservations, Connor seemed to relax in response to the physical touch.

“I’m alright.” He nodded. “I’m alright,” he repeated with more conviction.

Hank gave a reassuring smile and another comforting squeeze before relinquishing his hold on Connor’s knee and leaning back in his seat. “Course you are, you stubborn idiot.”

With a shaky and unnecessary breath, Connor seemed to steel himself. “We need to ask about data security at the earliest possibility. Find out who has access and what level of access. How staff are screened and hired. How  **—** ”

“How the servers are protected and establish the likelihood of compromise,” Hank finished. “I know.”

Connor gave a nod of approval before hesitantly adding, “I’m sure I’ll be able to recall, but I might need your help to remember everything he says.”

There was something gut-wrenching about Connor’s confession. He’d said that he’d been having difficulties with his memory, but this was the first time he’d readily admitted he might need help.

Hank was quick to offer reassurance. "On it. Believe it or not I used to manage these kinds of investigations before you came along. Well, more less. Can’t promise I’ll remember all the specific terminology if you two get too technical though.”

It was an easy jibe at his own expense and he knew Connor saw right through it as he gave a small appreciative smile.

“I trust you.”

The three simple words carried a weight of trust Hank felt completely ill-equipped for. He may have been confident in his reassurance, but it was all bluster. He didn’t know jack-shit about corporate investigations. He’d certainly never dealt with a company with so much influence and the backing of a powerful legal team. After the revolution there had been an extensive investigation into the full extent of the company’s shady practices. Somehow Cyberlife had emerged, not only without penalty, but with secured Government funding and a continuation of their exclusive patent on android parts and maintenance. They must have some seriously impressive lawyers on their side.

Connor and Hank were both seriously putting their necks on the line being here like this. If Fowler knew the full extent of what they were up to here he’d be furious. They were taking some serious liberties and weren’t exactly adhering to protocol here.

Still, how could they not risk it? With Connor’s condition declining even in the few days that had passed since his admission to Hank, they needed to act and they needed to act swiftly, without bureaucratic red-tape halting their progress.

But damn, they were both out of their depth here.

“Yeah, I got your back,” Hank reassured him as they heard the distinctive echo of a new set of footsteps approaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested, [an example of the hollow mask illusion described.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=01LMFFpAWYM) Our brains are weird and wonderful.


	8. Access Denied

The approaching footsteps were heavier than the delicate tapping of Dharker’s heels as the sound echoed through the empty corridor towards them, but the feet hit the ground with that same confidence and purpose.

Through the frosted glass they saw the blurred silhouette of a tall figure approaching. A moment later the door opened and a man who was presumably Mr Bennett entered the room. He was younger than Hank had been expecting, his blonde hair neatly trimmed and balanced by a meticulously manicured beard which shadowed an angular jaw and cheekbones. He could have stepped from the airbrushed covers of a magazine in his blue linen suit, the open buttons of his collar lending a relaxed edge to the professionalism he radiated.

“Officers,” he greeted with a contained smile which didn’t crease beyond the corners of his mouth. Sharp blue eyes scrutinised the pair keenly as they rose to their feet.

“Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Connor,” Hank clarified as he extended a hand in greeting.

“Of course,” Bennett’s fixed smile remained unfaltering as he shook Hank’s hand with a firm grasp. “Please forgive me, I meant no offence. I’m afraid I’m not overly familiar with police ranks and organisation.”

Hank gave his own curt smile in response. “None taken.”

“Detective,” Bennett said as he turned his attention to Connor. Hank could have sworn he saw the man’s keen eyes betray a flash of some unreadable emotion as they lingered momentarily on the LED on Connor’s temple. But the fleeting change was gone in an instant, replaced by the same sharply controlled focus as the pair shook hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Bennett.”

There was an amused quirk to the man’s smile in response as he stepped back and gestured for them to follow him. “Please, if you’d both follow me to my office.”

Bennett led them down another stark white corridor to an expectedly sleek and modern office, accented with splashes of Cyberlife blue and the company’s familiar logo. A floor to ceiling window stretched across one side of the room, affording sweeping views of the city beyond and casting an unforgiving light across an impressive glass-topped desk. He gestured to two waiting seats, which Hank and Connor took up, before pacing around to his own office chair. As he settled into his seat he lightly tugged and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket as considered the pair with that same lingering smile.

Connor didn’t wait for him to finish before he forged ahead with the purpose of their visit. “Thank you for meeting with us today, Mr Bennett. We greatly appreciate your time and assistance.”

“Of course.” Bennett finished his adjustments and laid his hands to rest interlocked upon his lap as he fixed a coldly inquisitive look at Connor. “May I ask exactly _what_ I’m assisting with?”

“We’re here on something of a fact-finding investigation. I should note that it’s not a criminal investigation, but we’re looking into some potential allegations involving the company.”

“Allegations?” Bennett questioned cautiously, keen eyes betraying only a wary interest. “What allegations? From whom?”

Hank quickly cut in, “We’ll come to that, Mr Bennett. In the meantime, if we could please ask for your patience while we ask a few questions.”

The man looked somewhat embittered at the dismissal, he carried the air of a man whose questions usually commanded an immediate answer and who wasn’t used to being denied priority. Despite his clear resentment, he indicated for the pair to continue with a single curt nod.

“Sir, we were wondering if you could kindly give us a quick overview of the data security measures in place here? What’s the setup?” Connor asked.

Bennett gave a resigned sigh. “Oh Christ, not this again.”

“‘This again’?” Hank echoed.

“Look, we’ve been over this so many times. We’ve always ensured that we protect our customers' privacy and that they have control over their personal data. Throughout our company’s history, we’ve worked closely with authorities to implement the most stringent privacy measures and ensure we stay compliant with all data protection and regulatory requirements.” 

“That's not what this is about,” Connor cut through the man’s corporate spiel.

“What then?” Bennett arched an eyebrow in question. “After the ‘38 fiasco, we made it clear that customers could put in a request to censor any sensitive or personal information of concern so it was no longer available to their former androids. Banking details, medical history, security information — all wiped from the memory banks. We’ve been upfront about all of this.”

“Yes, Mr Bennett. We’re aware of all that,” Hank stated patiently.

“Well, what then? What else is there?”

Hank spared a look to Connor, who gave a subtle nod of encouragement. “Tell us about your security measures. How are your servers protected?”

“What?” Bennett looked like humor was the furthest from his agenda as he considered Hank’s request. “You think there’s a breach with our data centers? No chance.”

“Humor us,” Hank challenged. “Give us a breakdown.”

“We have the strongest firewalls and protection in place and our data centers are all heavily secured—controlled perimeters, constant surveillance by security drones, biometric authentication, 24/7 guard staff and strictly restricted access. No one gets access to our data centers unless they have explicit authorisation and there are _very_ few people who have that level of access.”

“How many people do have access?” Connor asked.

“Well, only a tiny fraction of our workforce ever set foot inside—less than 1%. It’s strictly restricted to only essential technicians and engineers. Seventy? Eighty? A hundred at most? I don’t know the exact numbers off the top of my head.”

“And presumably those staff are all subject to extensive background checks prior to being recruited?” 

“Obviously.”

“How are they vetted?

“Why?” Bennett’s cool eyes tightened in thought, two steps ahead as he considered the line of questioning. “Is the allegation against one of them?”

“Just answer the question,” Hank cut in.

Bennett looked slightly affronted at the blunt questioning, but complied with a shake of his head. “Extensive background checks, interviews and screening. We were _very_ careful about who was employed to work there.”

“‘ _Were’_?” Connor questioned sharply.

“We haven’t appointed anyone new there in close to two years.” There was a touch of resentment to the man’s tone as he added. “It’s not exactly been a great time for us fiscally.”

Connor ignored the embittered response as he carefully pressed on. “Those employees who do have access, what exactly do they have access to?”

“They only have access to the physical devices in the data center for maintenance, upgrade and repair purposes. They can’t access any of the data, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s all heavily encrypted.”

“Have there ever been any concerns raised about any particular individuals working in those centers?” 

Bennett shook his head firmly. “Of course not. Do you really think we’d keep anyone in our employment if there was?”

There was a definite curtness to the man’s words now, Hank noted.

“It must have been a challenging period for your company,” he seized upon the rhetorical question. “A lot of changes — potential job losses. Are you saying there’s been no sense of discontent among the workforce at all?”

“We’ve had a few who didn’t much care for the new state of things, but we’ve been firm on our stance and we have a zero tolerance policy. Anyone who can’t abide by the changes gets a caution. Any repeat offences get escalated and appropriate disciplinary action taken. In any case, those violently opposed generally tended to leave of their own accord early on.”

“I see,” Hank said. “So you discipline anyone actively complaining or causing trouble. What’s to say there’s not somebody quietly keeping their discontent to themselves?”

Bennett raised a discerning eyebrow. “Obviously that’s a possibility. We’re not mind-readers and we can’t dictate what people think privately. We do what we can—education programmes, whistleblowing policies and so on. But as long as it doesn’t impede their work, it’s beyond our control.” He paused to consider them with a patient interest. “Listen, I’ve answered your questions, can you please tell me what on earth all this is about?”

Hank and Connor exchanged a glance. Connor’s jaw set with determination as he fixed an accusing glare at the man before them. “We’ve reason to believe you have a security lapse affecting your servers. Our evidence suggests that the breach originates internally.”

If he was startled by the accusation, the man didn’t show it. He didn’t flinch as he calmly met Connor’s determined focus, leaning his elbows upon the desk and considering Connor over the top of interlaced fingers.

“What kind of breach?" he asked casually.

“It seems that some kind of malicious new software has been introduced to several android models.”

Bennett waved a hand flippantly. “New malware comes out of the woodwork all the time. We’ve dealt with thousands of such incursions over the years. That’s really nothing novel.”

The dismissive motion which would have pissed Hank off did nothing to deter Connor. He remained impervious to the casual dismissal as he kept his attention solidly focused on the man before them.

“On further analysis, the source of the infection in all cases was traced right back here to Cyberlife,” he explained as he arched his eyebrows in subtle defiance.

“That’s not possible,” Bennett shook his head firmly. “A virus could have been picked up anywhere _._ ”

“Each infection occurred during a period of standby. That means the only potential source of infection was the one connection that occurs during that time—a connection directly to Cyberlife. We suspect this is likely a deliberate attack by someone within your organisation. Someone able to target androids whilst they are in a vulnerable state using that pre-established connection.”

“Our employees would never—”

“You’ve conceded yourself that it’s impossible to know the motivations of every individual within your organisation,” Connor pressed. “I’d hazard a guess that it’s entirely possible someone within your employment is harboring ill-intent.”

“Not possible,” Bennett echoed firmly. 

Hank could swear there was a subtle shift in that persistent slight smile that had never slipped, as though the man enjoyed the obstinate challenge he was presenting to them. It was the smile of a man who held power and knew it.

“I urge you to take the matter seriously, Mr Bennett.” Connor’s tone of voice sharpened, a hidden current of seldom-heard aggression underlying his words despite the deferential address. “Right now, your company does not hold a particularly favorable public image. Do you think it would do much for your reputation if word got out that you had failed to act upon our warning and android lives were consequently being endangered?”

There was a covert threat beneath Connor’s carefully polite words. It was easily concealed beneath his harmless looking exterior, but Cyberlife had designed him to be ruthlessly firm and intimidating when the situation demanded it. It seemed only fitting that he would use that same skill to now make his creator’s lives difficult.

Hank watched with satisfaction as Bennett’s cool composure blanched slightly in the face of Connor’s confrontation. The man drew his hands from where they rested neatly on the desk, slipping back quietly into his seat as he considered Connor’s words.

Bennett watched him carefully for a moment longer. “What exactly does this malware do?”

“From what we’ve observed, it gradually destroys the target’s programming causing widespread corruption and behavioral changes. The damage gets progressively more extensive until it eventually causes catastrophic system failure and shut down.”

Despite the starkness of Connor’s explanation, Bennett remained impassive. “And what do you propose would be the purpose of that?”

Hank found his temper flaring at the easy dismissal. “We don’t know, Mr Bennett. Surely an intelligent man such as yourself has a better idea than we do.”

Bennett gave a soft exhale, eyes sparkling with something beyond their inherent curiosity. _Amusement_ , Hank realised with a pang of anger. The guy was genuinely laughing in the face of news that androids were dying.

“Seems to me that there are a lot of unknowns with this situation,” Bennett continued, that brief hint of amusement again concealed behind a mask of professional apathy. “Certainly far too many to be jumping to any kind of false conclusions.”

“No one’s concluding anything,” Hank said tersely. “Like my partner here said, we’re just looking into some allegations.”

Bennett paused, accusation flaring in his eyes as he held up a halting hand. “Sorry, I have to ask, who exactly raised these allegations?”

Connor exchanged a brief look with Hank before responding. “I’m afraid we can’t disclose that. Confidentiality restricts us from giving away any further details.”

“Of course.” There was a dangerous glint to the man’s cold eyes that betrayed an underlying current of indignation despite the calmness of his words. “One thing you should know, there are some companies out there who do not have the same ethical principles and have no qualms about stooping to cheap tactics and ill-founded accusations as a way of besmirching the good standing of our company. They’re driven by corporate jealousy and greed. Consider your source and their motives carefully.”

“We’ll bear that in mind,” Hank confirmed coldly. 

The man gave a perfunctory nod of acknowledgement before raising an arm to glance conspicuously at a gleaming watch upon his wrist. “Apologies, detectives, I’m running short of time. Though that’s really all I can help you with in any case.”

“That’s really all you can tell us?”

“I’m not sure what else you expect me to say, Lieutenant?”

“People are _dying_ ,” Hank stressed. “And you’re just dismissing the possibility that someone within your employment is responsible?”

Calculating blue eyes met Hank’s with a threatening severity that brokered no arguments. “Obviously we will conduct our own internal investigation to see if there's any chance this supposed malware might have slipped through our security measures. If we find anything, it will be patched with the next security update.”

“But you won’t investigate any of your staff?”

“I see no reason to. If there was reason to investigate further, would you not be doing so yourselves?” Bennett gave a sly smile at the silence which greeted this particular remark. “As I thought.”

“That’s why we’ve come to you. We’re asking for your assistance.”

“The fact that you’re _asking_ me shows that you don’t have sufficient evidence to support your claims. If you had definitive proof that this virus—or whatever it is—originated here within our walls, you’d be going through the proper legal process.”

“Mr Bennett, there isn’t a proper channel for this kind of thing,” Connor drew Bennett’s attention with his stern response. “We’re not asking you to divulge sensitive information. We just need your assistance to determine—”

Bennett held up a halting hand. “I know what you’re going to ask next, but no. We can’t just give you free access to sensitive information for your own investigation. We have our own confidentiality agreements to respect.”

Hank slammed an open palm down on the desk before them. “We just told you that you likely have someone within your team abusing their position and threatening lives— _actual lives_ . Are you going to deny _any_ responsibility for what’s happening?”

Bennett raised a scathing eyebrow at the outburst. “Forgive me, detective, but it still seems like you’re jumping to biased conclusions without sufficient evidence. Look, I can see that it would be easy to suspect someone in our company on the basis of our past; and _of course_ we’re going to be linked with any kind of adverse incident involving androids through mere association. But none of that equals culpability.”

“You still have a goddamn responsibility to do _something_!”

“And I told you we would. If you send us the details of these infections, we’ll investigate their cause further. That’s all we can do as of now. Of course, come back through the proper channels with a valid reason and the proper paperwork and we will do all within our power to present you with any pertinent information required.”

“Right.” Hank let his terse tone speak his disgruntlement.

The chiming of a cell phone interrupted a more colorful expression of his displeasure.

“Excuse me gentleman, I’m afraid I really must take this.”

Without waiting for a response, Bennett answered the call.

“Thank you for your time, Mr Bennett.” Connor spoke over Bennet’s polite greeting as he rose from the desk, his chin held high as he squared his shoulders and reached out a hand. “I urge you again to carefully consider the potential repercussions any inaction on your part may cause at this time.”

“One moment, please,” Bennett directed to the caller, muting the phone as he shook Connor’s hand awkwardly. Somehow the action looked like a grapple for dominance. It stretched out just a fraction of a second too long as the two men locked eyes in a silent battle for command.

“Thank you for visiting,” Bennett said with a return of that composed slight smile. “It’s been very…enlightening. You’ve certainly given us much to think about.”

A flicker of regret crossed Connor’s expression as Bennett pulled away from the handshake.

“If you return to the waiting area, my PA will escort you back downstairs,” Bennett added with one final glint of insincere charm.

Hank rose to follow Connor out of the room, pausing and turning in the doorway to add his own sarcastic farewell. “Thank you _so_ much for your help.”

Before the door closed between them, he was treated to one last bemused look breaking through Bennett’s controlled demeanor.

“Hey, Connor, wait up.” He picked up his pace as he watched Connor already storming off along the corridor. “Connor!”

Despite his protests, Connor’s pace didn’t let up and Hank was forced to lengthen his strides to catch up. He patted Connor’s shoulder to command his attention as he drew level.

“Hey! I’m in as much of a hurry to leave this place as you, but you gotta slow down, kid.”

Connor didn’t acknowledge Hank’s words as he carried on walking with purpose. “He was wearing a smartwatch, Lieutenant.”

Hank struggled to reconcile the observation with the sudden burst of speed.

“Yeah, so?”

“It was a Cyberlife smartwatch.”

Hank couldn’t help the way his face scrunched up in confusion. “So the guy wears his own gear? What’s the point?”

“A smartwatch synced with his diary and emails.” Connor raised his left hand, rotating it to a palm up position. Hank followed the motion and noticed the subtle flicker of fluid skin rippling over his pale fingers.

“You didn’t,” he said as he caught on to the reason for the awkwardness of the exchanged handshake he had observed. He couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope at the realisation that the hands had been locked in an unnatural grasp that concealed the exchange of more than social pleasantries. 

Connor shook his head as he lowered the raised hand. “I tried to sync with their internal servers via his watch but was denied access. Unfortunately it seems any access privileges I once had have been revoked.”

Hank gave a bark of laughter at the tenacity of his partner. Even in the face of disaster, he was resourceful as ever.

“Yeah, that tracks. Shame. That would’ve made life a hell of a lot easier.”

Connor looked discouraged as he admitted, “It was a long shot, but I thought I might be able to hack my way in.”

“Think you would have raised eyebrows if that handshake went on any longer.” Hank clapped him proudly on the back. “Congratulations, you’re on Cyberlife’s blacklist.”

Connor didn’t look impressed at the notion.

* * *

Their departure from the building was a rapid and subdued affair. The empty cavern of the building’s atrium echoed back the silence that had fallen between the pair as they were escorted from the building by Bennett’s PA.

They stepped out to a gray overcast day and a fine light rain which beat down incessantly and dampened their clothing in the short time it took them to walk around the perimeter of the tower to where Hank’s car was parked. Free of the building’s confines, Hank realized just how on edge the place had put him. He found himself inhaling the fresh air deeply as though every breath he had taken within the building had been tainted with the malice and greed that seemed rampant throughout the company. 

“What a fucking waste of time,” he fumed as soon as they were back within the familiar safe confines of his Oldsmobile.

“They were never going to admit any kind of culpability,” Connor remarked. “We weren’t expecting anything different.”

“Fucking assholes, the lot of them. Especially that Bennett guy.”

Connor didn’t say anything further in response to Hank’s foul-mouthed evaluation. He looked lost in thought as he watched the persistent striking of raindrops picking up against the windscreen. The soft patter was a gentle soundtrack to their discontent, almost comically attuned to their dampened mood. Something was clearly weighing on the man’s mind, but Hank decided to let him mull it over as he continued to vent his frustrations.

“It’s like he wouldn’t even entertain the idea of being helpful. Honestly, maybe he’s the one behind all this crap. Guy’s a fucking egomaniac.”

“Did you get the sense that something was off,” Connor suddenly interjected. “About the company, I mean?”

Hank gave a derisive snort of a laugh. “Seriously? You want to go down that road?”

“I mean it.” Connor remained straight-faced as he ignored the sarcastic response. “Something wasn’t right.”

“There are a lot of things not right about this place. Cyberlife is still creepy as hell. Doesn’t seem like there’s been much change to me.

“Perhaps,” Connor conceded with a distracted air that betrayed he wasn’t yet ready to let go of whatever line of thought he’d cottoned on to.

Casting a surreptitious glance to his companion, Hank could swear he saw deepening shadows beneath the android’s eyes, though logically he knew that was impossible. Perhaps he was just looking to see the tell-tale signs of exhaustion he was attuned to notice in his human colleagues.

Between arduous cases, the trials and tribulations of raising a newborn and long dark nights in the company of a bottle and a revolver, Hank had experienced more than his fair share of gruelling spells of sleep deprivation during his lifetime. He recognized the bone-deep weariness which aided gravity’s unforgiving pull, leaving your body weighted and your thoughts a hazy fog. It was beyond the kind of fatigue that accompanied a series of double shifts or a couple of late nights, it was the complete mental exhaustion that came from life’s persistent knocks and a gross neglect of personal wellbeing. It was a fatigue which had no place afflicting the fierce, bright young man beside him.

Whether the perceived bags under his eyes were a consequence of the dim light or Hank’s imagination, there was no getting around the fact that Connor looked exhausted. 

“Well, there’s one good thing to come out of us being here,” he teased with a forced smile.

“Hmm?” Connor broke from his distracted contemplation to frown a question at Hank.

“Gig’s up. You can reconnect now, right?”

“Oh.” Connor looked startled for a moment. “Right.” He continued to look distracted as he watched the water patterns on the windscreen morph with the spotlight cast by a passing security drone.

“You said you can’t think straight because your processing power is restricted at the moment, right? Why don’t you plug that brain of yours back in? Should help you think clearer?”

Woefully inaccurate as Hank’s understanding of Connor’s connection with Cyberlife might have been, he could see the moment when the merits of his advice registered. Connor’s brow furrowed as he turned his attention to Hank.

“There’s still a risk that I could be infected with the virus once I establish a connection—more so than ever now we’ve been upfront with our investigations,” he said hesitantly.

Hank sighed in response. “I know. But there’s a greater risk you’re going to fry your circuits if you push yourself any more. You look beat.”

As if to verify Hank’s words, Connor cast a glance to his own reflection in the wing mirror. His frown deepened as he studied his face and Hank couldn’t help but feel some slight vindication that perhaps he hadn’t been falsely imagining the physical signs of fatigue.

After a few seconds, Connor blinked himself back to the present with a short, sharp nod. “Okay.”

“You’ll re-connect?”

Hank couldn’t help but let surprise color his tone, he’d been expecting a fiercer protest despite this being a key motivation behind their visit to Cyberlife. The easy acceptance was a marked change from the obstinance he usually battled with. Connor had been assigned as his partner to ease his work burden and make his life easier, but he’d done nothing but complicate Hank’s life since he’d first dragged him from a bar to a crime scene all that time ago.

“Yes, I’ll re-connect.” Connor looked to him seriously for a moment. “Though I need you to promise me something. From what we’ve seen so far, the infection is a gradual process. We should have fair warning if anything’s going wrong. But if I start acting strangely and don’t seem cognizant of the change, you have to promise me that you won’t hesitate to—”

“No fucking way,” Hank interrupted. Wherever Connor had been going, he knew he didn’t want to hear the end of it. “Just no.”

“Hank, be rational here. We already suspect that the virus might be used as a means of control. In which case I’d be a prime target. If that happens—”

“No one’s controlling anyone.”

“It’s not an unreasonable assumption when it’s already happened.” The words were a gut-punch delivered so calmly they betrayed nothing of the emotional upheaval Cyberlife’s invasive possession must have caused.

“Connor—”

“I’m sure it won’t happen immediately,” Connor insisted, “but just in case we’re wrong, I’m asking you to disable me if it comes down to it.”

“When you say _‘disable’…_ ” Hank trailed off in horrified question.

“I just mean don’t let me out of your sight. Don’t let me near Jericho. Definitely don’t let me near Markus. If I’m so far gone that I physically resist, you’ll need to incarcerate me in some way. If that happens, reach out to Jericho and ask for _North_. It has to be North, okay? She’ll know what to do.”

“I don’t know. What if—”

“Promise me.”

Hank could barely bring himself to meet the intensity and sudden clarity of thought that lit Connor’s eyes. The man was so composed and rational, as though he wasn’t negotiating the terms of his own detainment. Meanwhile Hank was hanging on a razor edge, reservations flickering frantically through his mind as he desperately sought out some acceptable compromise.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he grumbled as he suppressed a more aggressive rebuttal.

“ _Lieutenant_.”

“Fine.” The inevitable agreement felt like a betrayal. “ _If_ anything happens—which it won’t—I’ll make sure you can’t do anything you’ll later regret.”

“You need to take action at the slightest sign something is wrong. Don’t let doubt cause you any hesitation.”

“Alright, alright.”

“And you’ll reach out to North?”

“If I have to.”

Connor heaved an appreciative sigh, tense shoulders slumping as he sunk back into his seat as though the discussion had drained him. “Thank you.”

“You’ll be okay though,” Hank insisted, 

Hank wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, or indeed whether the words were intended to reassure himself or Connor more. Whoever the intended audience was, Connor seemed to read some deeper meaning to them as he gave a small smile.

“Sentimentally doesn’t suit you, Lieutenant.”

“Hey! Fuck you.” 

Despite the harshness of his words, Hank knew Connor saw right through them. He was familiar enough with Hank’s petulance to know those two words from Hank carried a hundred different meanings depending upon the inflection and context. He would have picked up on the fondness that softened the words to a caring reprimand.

Connor gave a small chuckle of laughter at Hank’s belligerent display of affection. In the close proximity of the car Hank could hear the faintest mechanical whir which accompanied the action, an artificial ventilation system kicking up in gear to mimic the rhythmic contractions of a human respiratory system. The first time Hank had heard the noise, he had been freaked out by the strange reminder of the machinery which made up his partner’s body. Initially it had seemed bizarre that he was even capable of echoing such a superfluous action, but the humanness of the action soon overcame its peculiarity. Now the noise served as a reminder of just how _alive_ this man was. 

Alive and laughing and with so much to lose if this went wrong.

The gentle mirth soon abated, a renewed purpose directing Connor’s actions as he steeled himself to make the connection. He gave a small confirmatory nod to Hank.

It felt hyperbolic to have so much build up to what should be such a small action. Hank had seen it happen so many times without fanfare. The action itself was barely more than a blink. Connor would barely cease moving—his eyelids drooping quietly closed and LED flickering briefly yellow—before he’d open his eyes barely two seconds later, refreshed like he’d had a full night's sleep.

With greater precision than such a simple action should require, Connor’s eyelids slid closed as his body and facial expression fell lax into that strangely inert state which accompanied a data transfer. His LED flickered incongruously active, spinning a fierce yellow as it pulsed faster and faster for several seconds before finally flashing a solid angry red.

A sense of foreboding stole over Hank as he watched Connor’s brow furrow tightly, evidently concentrating on some internal process. The LED stuttered back to an intermittent flashing yellow, only this time interspersed with flickers of that same darker hue. A few seconds later, the sequence again ended with an abrupt flash of uncompromising red.

Hank didn’t dare to break the silence as the sequence repeated, this time only the barest hint of yellow visible through the flickering red. The flashing ended as abruptly and as unsuccessfully as the previous attempts.

After a moment’s pause, Connor’s eyes warily flickered open, his brows furrowed deeply in confusion as he sought out Hank’s anxious gaze

“Connor?” Hank’s voice cracked as he forced the inquiry from a throat which had grown suddenly dry, as though all moisture had been wicked away with the suspended breath he was holding.

Connor said nothing, his LED betraying everything he wasn’t saying with that persistent damning red.

Despite knowing exactly what the response would be, Hank knew he needed to hear the words aloud. He swallowed back his fear to restore some forcefulness to his words. 

“Connor, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t _…_ I can’t do it.” Wide brown eyes looked pleadingly to Hank, confused and conflicted and somehow so much younger than usual. “Hank, I can’t reconnect.”

With that final desperate admission, Hank realised why he looked so much younger in that moment than the thirty year old he was designed to appear as.

 _Fear_.

Connor was afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand so continues the slippery downhill slope. Nothing is ever simple, is it? I am genuinely _so_ excited for what comes next! This is what we've been building up to since the beginning and, oh man, it’s gonna be good.
> 
> Thank you to every one of you lovely readers for joining the journey!


End file.
